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S.  Weir  Mitchell 


NEW 

SAMARIA 

AND 

THE  SUMMER  OF 
ST.  MARTIN 

BY 
S.  WEIR  MITCHELL,  M.D. 

AUTHOR    OF    "  HUGH  WYNNE," 
"DOCTOR  AND  PATIENT,"  ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED 


PHILADELPHIA  &   LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 
i  904 


Copyright,  1904 
BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1904 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia,  U.  S.  A. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

X 

PACK 

S.  Weir  Mitchell       .      ,      Frontispiece 

I  went  away  down  the  road       ...  51 

"  We're  getting  right  warm,"  said  the 

Sheriff 85 

"Why,  it's  five  thousand  dollars".      .  124 

"  You  are  so  strong — be  merciful"       .  164 


f>5 


NEW   SAMARIA 


THIS  is  what  happened  to  me  in 
July,  1873.  It  chanced  in  the 
middle  of  a  prosperous  and  easy 
life,  in  which,  as  the  only  child  of 
a  banker,  I  had  doubled  the  prop 
erty  left  to  me.  My  days  had  been 
free  from  money  cares,  and  were 
in  all  other  ways  uneventful  and 
happy. 

In  looking  back  over  the  unlucky 

incidents  I  here  record  I  fail  to  see 

what  better  I  could  have  done.    One 

of  the   three  or  four  people  who 

5 


NEW  SAMARIA 

have  read  this  story  of  my  sudden 
isolation  thinks  I  might  have  found 
sooner  some  way  of  relief.  I  leave 
the  reader  to  decide. 

The  West  was  not  the  West  of 
to-day.  Travel  was  more  difficult, 
the  post  slow,  the  telegraph  a  new 
and  more  costly  means  of  commu 
nication. 

In  1871  I  became  the  unwilling 
owner  of  certain  mines  in  western 
Arkansas.  They  had  brought  ruin 
to  two  owners,  and  I  went  to  the 
West  to  see  what  I  could  do  with 
them.  I  told  my  people  not  to 
write  until  they  heard  from  me,  and 
that  I  should  be  gone  three  or  four 
weeks. 

6 


NEW  SAMARIA 

On  July  3,  twenty  miles  from  my 
destination,  New  Samaria,  I  left  the 
unfinished  railway,  and  on  July  4 
took  the  stage  early  in  the  morning. 
To  my  disgust,  my  baggage  had 
been  missing  at  the  station.  A  too 
sanguine  station-master  "  reckoned 
it  would  turn  up  soon,"  and  I  went 
away  annoyed,  anticipating  the  dis 
comfort  of  being  without  a  change 
of  clothes.  My  trunk  did  turn  up 
a  month  later. 

I  reached  the  town  of  New  Sa 
maria  at  noon.  I  had  a  horrible 
meal,  and,  evidently  by  reason  of 
my  being  without  baggage,  was  not 
very  cordially  received.  It  did  not 
trouble  me.  Being  rather  energetic, 

7 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I  meant  to  lose  no  time,  and,  with 
out  stating  my  errand,  asked  to  be 
driven  out  to  the  mines,  some  twelve 
miles  distant.  The  town  was  noisy, 
and  was  evidently  celebrating  the 
National  Holiday  with  the  aid  of 
much  whiskey. 

When  the  driver  appeared  with  a 
good-looking  horse  and  buggy  he 
was  distinctly  drunk.  I  tried  to  find 
the  landlord ;  he  was  absent.  A 
sympathetic  bystander  said  the  road 
was  plain,  better  to  drive  myself. 
Dismissing  my  driver,  I  received  a 
pretty  clear  statement  that  I  was  to 
follow  the  main  road  to  the  bridge, 
which  was  under  repair.  Then  I 
was  to  turn  to  the  left  and  go  along 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  river  road  to  another  bridge  a 
mile  away.  After  that  it  was  a 
plain  road,  "  no  fellow  could  miss 
it." 

As  I  was  about  to  get  into  the 
wagon  a  tall  man  touched  my  arm, 
a  liberty  I  always  dislike.  He  began 
to  tell  a  woful  tale  of  how  he  was 
out  of  work,  never  had  begged, 
would  I — and  so  on.  I  said,  "  Oh, 
go  and  get  work.  I  never  give  to 
beggars." 

He  said, — and  I  thought  it  queer, 
— "  I  wish  to  thunder  I  hadn't  asked 
you." 

He  did  look  pretty  well  used  up, 
but  I  was  still  in  a  state  of  vexation 
about  my  baggage,  and  the  man 
9 


NEW  SAMARIA 

got  an  unearned  share  of  my  ill- 
humor.  I  got  into  the  wagon  and 
drove  away.  I  was  saluted  at  the 
hill-top  by  a  pack  of  fire-crackers, 
and  that  and  the  poor  devil's  face 
were  the  last  things  I  remember. 

When  I  was  re-born  to  slowly 
improving  consciousness  it  was  to 
recognize  the  place  I  was  in  as  new 
and  the  light  as  dim.  I  recall  my 
first  puzzle  as  to  whether  it  was 
morning  or  evening.  I  concluded 
that  the  change  of  light  would  soon 
tell  me,  and  was  pleased  at  my  own 
intelligence.  By  degrees  the  light 
increased,  and  with  it  the  knowledge 
of  my  condition.  My  head  was 


10 


NEW  SAMARIA 

bandaged  and  I  was  now  and  then 
a  little  giddy,  especially  if  I  turned 
over  in  bed.  My  right  hand  also 
was  bandaged.  By  degrees  I  saw 
that  I  was  in  a  large,  whitewashed 
room  in  one  of  six  beds.  It  was 
close  and  not  over  clean.  My  pil 
low  smelt  horribly.  Two  other 
patients  were  snoring.  By  and  by 
came  a  young  woman  neatly  clad 
in  gray  linen.  She  said,  "  Oh,  you 
are  better  ;  how  do  you  feel  ?" 

I  said,  feebly,  being  still  rather 
dazed,  "  Thank  you,  I  am  very 
weak  and  giddy." 

44  Well,  you  are  out  of  danger, 
the  doctor  says.     You  have  been 
very  bad  off  your  head." 
ii 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "  are  you 
the  nurse  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  May  I  ask  your  name  ?" 

"  Why,  yes ;  my  name's  Jane 
Wright." 

"  And  I  am  in — well, — in — a — 
hospital?" 

44  Yes,  but  here's  the  doctor.  I 
will  fetch  your  breakfast  pretty 
soon." 

The  doctor  was  young  and,  as  I 
found,  positive.  I  was  becoming 
curious,  and  was  beginning  to  feel 
a  little  more  secure  of  my  power  to 
think  and  to  speak. 

44  Oh,  you  are  all  right  to-day," 
said  the  doctor.  44  Any  headache  *?" 


12 


NEW  SAMARIA 

"No,  but  I  have  more  or  less 
vertigo  if  I  turn  over  suddenly." 

"  Then  don't  turn  over.  If  you 
keep  quiet,  you  will  be  about  able 
to  go  out  when  we  close  for  repairs 
on  the  fourteenth." 

"  May  I  ask,  my  dear  doctor, 
how  long  I  have  been  here  *?" 

"Since  July  4,  and  this  is  the 
loth."  He  turned  to  leave  me. 

"  Indeed  !  A  week.  Pardon  me 
if  I  detain  you  a  moment.  What 
happened  to  me?  I  have  lost 
nearly  a  week.  It  is  an  absolute 
blank." 

"  You  want  to  know  what  hap 
pened?  You  started  out  after  a 
Fourth  of  July  frolic  to  drive  over 
13 


NEW   SAMARIA 

a  bridge  with  no  flooring.  You 
were  pretty  well  set  up." 

"What!  I  was  drunk!  Do  they 
say  that?" 

"  They  do.  A  man  tried  to  stop 
the  horse.  He  succeeded,  but  there 
was  a  smash,  and  you  got  a  crack 
on  the  head,  and  he  broke  his  leg. 
The  horse  had  to  be  shot,  and  the 
wagon  was  in  toothpicks." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  this  is  an  amaz 
ing  tale.  I  was  drunk,  you 
say?" 

"  Yes,  so  they  say.  I  wasn't 
there." 

"  It  strikes  me  as  comical." 

"  Does  it  ?  By  George,  your  idea 
of  a  joke  is  unusual.  Wait  till  you 
14 


NEW   SAMARIA 

see  the  man  who  let  you  have  his 
horse." 

"  I  presume,  sir,  that  I  can  pay 
for  it.  I  certainly  mean  to  do 
so." 

"  Well,  for  a  fellow  that  did  what 
you  did  that  is  rather  cool.  You 
had  better  keep  quiet.  In  three 
days  I  can  let  you  go." 

I  said,  "Wait  a  little,  doctor; 
there  is  some  queer  mistake.  I 
am — I  am  George  Woodburn, 
of  the  banking  firm  of  Woodburn 
&  Caruthers,  Wall  Street.  Where 
is  my  purse?  It  was  in  my  in 
side  breast-pocket.  There  are  cards 
in  it." 

"  Purse  2  There  was  no  purse." 
15 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"And  my  watch, — a  gold  re- 
peater?" 

The  doctor  said,  "  My  good  man, 
you  are  either  off  your  head  a  bit 
or  else  you  are  playing  a  little  game. 
It  won't  do.  I  have  no  time  to 
waste.  Best  keep  still.  If  you 
get  excited,  you  will  only  be  the 
worse  for  it." 

The  situation  was  really  so  odd 
that  as  he  moved  away  I  laughed 
outright.  This  hurt  my  head,  and 
I  reflected  that  his  last  advice  was 
good.  I  said  no  more  until  the 
nurse  came  with  milk  and  bread  and 
butter,  when  I  asked  her,  "  Miss 
Wright,  have  I  been  here  a  week  *?" 

"  Yes." 

16 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"Was  I  much  hurt?" 

"  Yes, — a  cut  on  the  head  and 
one  on  the  cheek.  But  you  got  off 
pretty  well — dislocated  thumb  and 
sprained  wrist." 

"  That  absurd  young  doctor  seems 
to  be  in  a  hurry.  He  should  have 
heard  more  patiently  what  I  have 
to  say.  He  seems  to  me  rather 
positive." 

"  Oh,  that's  because  he  always 
knows." 

"  Indeed  !  How  could  he  know 
about  me?  I  do  assure  you,  my 
good  nurse,  that  he  is  strangely 
mistaken." 

"I  wouldn't  excite  myself  if  I 
were  you."  Miss  Wright  seemed 
17 


NEW   SAMARIA 

unwilling    to   discuss    the    doctor's 
opinions. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said.  "No 
doubt  the  advice  is  good,  but  it  is 
somewhat  necessary  that  I  should 
communicate  with  my  people  and 
settle  all  this  nonsense  as  to  what  I 
am.  It  is  rather  amusing  to  be 
taken  for  a  tramp  by  that  doctor." 

"  Oh,  he  only  says  what  every 
one  says.  Mind,  I  don't  say  it.  I 
told  him  it  was  nonsense ;  that 
tramps  did  not  talk  the  kind  of  way 
you  do.  I  don't  know  what  you 
are,  but  you're  no  tramp." 

"  Many  thanks,  Miss  Wright,  and 
kindly  tell  me  what  else  is  said  of 
me.     It  is  interesting." 
18 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  Oh,  it's  all  in  the  New  Samaria 
Herald.  Mr.  Smile  (that's  the  land 
lord)  says  you  are  in  with  a  lot  of 
policy  men." 

"  That  is  agreeable.  Is  it  really 
the  case  that  my  purse  and  watch 
are  gone  *?" 

"  Well,  we  couldn't  find  a  cent, 
or  anything  to  say  who  you  were. 
Your  socks  were  marked  with  ini 
tials.  We  wanted  to  know,  because 
we  thought  you  were  going  to 
die." 

"  One  can  do  that  without  having 
a  name.  Does  your  doctor  never 
believe  a  man  in  a  hospital  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Now  eat  your 
breakfast.  In  a  day  or  two  you 
19 


NEW   SAMARIA 

will  be  able  to  go  out.  I  must  go ; 
and  don't  you  worry." 

I  asked  for  the  paper,  which  she 
said  she  would  fetch. 

I  lay  quiet  all  that  day.  Here 
was  a  pleasing  scrape.  I  was  weak, 
alone,  presumed  to  be  a  scamp, 
without  a  cent,  in  a  Western  town 
where  no  one  knew  me.  However, 
I  was  glad  to  have  been  so  well 
cared  for,  and,  after  all,  when  once 
I  was  up  and  dressed  I  could  easily 
arrange  matters. 

The  next  morning  my  head  felt 
clearer,  and  I  began  to  consider  my 
surroundings  with  more  care.  I  sat 
up  after  a  breakfast  of  milk  and 
bread  and  observed  that  I  was  No.  5. 
20 


NEW   SAMARIA 

My  only  near  neighbor  was  No.  6. 
He  was  a  man  under  thirty  and  had 
red  hair,  which  was  cut  short  and 
stood  up  straight  from  the  scalp. 
We  were  the  only  inmates. 

I  said,  "  Excuse  me ;  do  you 
mind  talking  to  me  a  little?" 

"  No.  I  meant  to,  but  until  two 
days  ago  you  have  been  raving 
about  mines  and  buying  houses." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Thank  Heaven,  I 
am  getting  better;  pretty  soon  I 
shall  be  able  to  get  out  and  settle 
things,  and  reward  all  these  good 
people  who  have  been  taking  care 
of  me." 

"Well,  you  are  a  cool  hand," 
said  No.  6.  "  The  landlord  says 

21 


NEW   SAMARIA 

you  were  drunk,  and  my  advice  to 
you  is  to  get  away  quietly  out  of 
this  town.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
never  set  eyes  on  you.  If  I  were 
you  I  would  slip  away  after  dusk." 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  mean  *?" 

"  Mean  !  I  caught  your  horse. 
He  was  going  for  the  bridge.  In  a 
moment  you  would  have  been  a 
gone  man." 

"Then  I  really  owe  you  both  an 
apology  and  gratitude.  But  no  one 
told  me  who  or  what  my  neighbor 
was,  and  so  you  have  gone  un- 
thanked.  I  assure  you  I  am  most 
grateful." 

"Oh,  that's  all  very  well.  But 
here  I  am  with  a  leg  broken  and 


22 


NEW   SAMARIA 

laid  by  for  six  or  eight  weeks,  and 
my  salary  stopped." 

"  That's  pretty  hard ;  but  in  a  few 
days,  when  I  get  out  of  this  place,  I 
hope  to  satisfy  you  that  your  sacri 
fice  has  not  been  in  vain." 

My  neighbor  laughed.  "  By 
George  !  The  doctor  says  you  can 
talk,  and  that  is  all  there  is  of 
you." 

"So  the  doctor  has  been  gossip 
ing.  Upon  my  word,  you  and  he 
are  oddly  mistaken." 

"Oh,  shut  up  !"  said  No.  6.  "I 
know  your  kind." 

"  I  cannot  reply  to  a  man  who 
saved  my  life  as  I  would  to  another, 
but  as  you  seem  unwilling  to  be- 
23 


NEW   SAMARIA 

lieve  me,  may  I  ask  one  other  ques 
tion*?" 

"Oh,  yes.     What  is  it V 
"Who  brought  me  here?" 
"Oh,  some   circus  chaps  picked 
you  up." 

Then  I  understood  where  had 
gone  my  purse,  watch,  and,  as  it 
proved,  my  trunk-check  and  cigar- 
case. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  will  not  trou 
ble  you  further.     You  will  find  out 
some  day  that  you   have  made  a 
mistake  about  me.     I  can  very  well 
understand  why  you  feel  as  you  do." 
"  Oh,  gammon,"  said  No.  6.  "  I've 
had  all  I  want  to  hear.     I  am  laid 
by  for  two  months  and  I  have  to 
24 


NEW   SAMARIA 

pay  a  fellow  to  clerk  for  me  in  the 
bank.  Suppose  you  quit  talking 
to  me." 

I  said,  "  Very  well,  as  you  like." 
After  this  I  began  to  reflect,  and 
when  I  put  myself  in  the  place  of 
No.  6  I  knew  that  I  should  have 
been  equally  sceptical.  At  the  same 
time  I  felt  a  certain  amused  interest 
as  to  how  my  too  unusual  situation 
would  end.  The  next  day  No.  6 
was  removed,  as  I  heard,  to  his 
own  home.  I  learned  that  his  name 
was  Thomas  Sedgeley.  He  seemed 
to  have  recovered  his  temper,  for  as 
they  lifted  him  he  repeated  the  ad 
vice  he  had  given  me  as  to  leaving 
town,  and  seemed  to  take  in  me  the 
25 


NEW   SAMARIA 

kind  of  half  interest  to  which  an 
act  of  self-devotion  seems  to  pledge 
a  man.  His  removal  left  me  with 
no  one  to  talk  to  except  the  doctor, 
who  had  made  so  decided  a  moral 
diagnosis,  and  the  nurse,  who  was 
both  civil  and  kind. 

The  day  of  my  first  talk  with 
Miss  Jane  she  brought  me  the  paper 
she  had  promised,  but  it  was  not 
until  much  later  that  I  could  read. 
Until  then  my  sight  was  doubled, 
and  any  effort  to  fix  my  attention 
caused  a  return  of  giddiness.  I  put 
the  paper  under  my  pillow  and 
waited  until  I  could  learn  with 
more  ease  what  New  Samaria 
thought  of  me. 

26 


NEW   SAMARIA 

The  second  day  I  asked  for  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  but  my  right  hand 
was  sadly  cut  and  sprained,  and  I 
could  not  write  a  word.  Miss  Jane 
said  she  would  write  for  me.  I 
dictated  a  note  asking  my  partner 
to  arrange  for  a  credit  at  the  Na 
tional  Bank  of  New  Samaria  for 
ten  thousand  dollars,  and  explain 
ing  my  situation.  The  little  woman 
looked  up  in  amazement. 

"  Ten  thousand  ?"  said  she. 

I  said,  "  Yes,  that  is  correct." 

She  evidently  regarded  it  as  a 
dishonest  attempt  to  impress  her 
with  the  belief  that  I  was  really 
what  I  had  said  I  was.  I  added, 
"If  you  think  a  little,  my  good 
27 


NEW   SAMARIA 

nurse,  you  will  see  that  my  writing 
a  letter  to  New  York  could  do 
me  no  good  with  people  here ; 
kindly  finish  it."  She  said  no 
more. 

I  finished  my  letter  with  a  brief 
statement  of  my  having  had  a  slight 
accident  to  my  hand  :  this  to  explain 
a  signature  which  did  excite  much 
comment  in  the  home  office.  Then 
I  told  my  nurse  that  I  must  ask  the 
charity  of  a  three-cent  stamp. 
When  she  returned  with  it  I  said, 
smiling,  "You  have  made  an  in 
vestment.  What  will  be  the  inter 
est  for  one  month  on  a  three-cent 
stamp?"  She  said  I  must  still  be 
off  my  head,  and  again  advised 
28 


NEW   SAMARIA 

quiet.  I  had  evidently  damaged 
the  good  opinion  she  had  had  of 
me.  However,  that  could  not  be 
helped,  and  so  the  letter  was  directed 
and  sent. 

I  knew  that  my  letter  could  not 
bring  me  a  reply  for  a  week,  and 
that  no  means  I  could  employ 
would  put  me  at  once  in  easy  cir 
cumstances.  In  any  case  I  should 
have  to  be  identified  before  I  could 
get  money.  It  must  have  been 
several  days  before  I  was  able  to 
think  clearly,  or  else  I  might  sooner 
have  seen  my  way.  But,  as  I  have 
said,  for  some  time,  even  before  I 
left  the  hospital,  and  for  some  days 
afterwards,  all  effort  to  concentrate 
29 


NEW   SAMARIA 

attention  confused  me  and  gave 
rise  to  vertigo. 

Reflecting  upon  what  had  passed, 
I  was  somewhat  surprised  that  quiet 
talk  and  civil  ways  should  have  af 
fected  so  little  the  people  with 
whom  I  had  come  into  contact.  In 
fact,  it  made  them  suspicious,  but 
to  none  did  it  bring  conviction,  as 
I  was  soon  to  learn. 

Two  days  went  by,  and  I  was 
told  that  I  was  well  enough  to  go 
out.  I  was  really  quite  unfit  to  leave ; 
but  what  else  could  I  do?  This 
was  July  14.  I  was  advised  to  live 
on  milk  and  vegetables  and  to  avoid 
the  sun ;  best  not  to  try  to  use  my 
right  hand  for  a  week  or  two.  It 
30 


NEW   SAMARIA 

was  pleasingly  vague.  I  was  eager 
to  get  out  and  settle  my  difficulties. 
A  screen  was  set  up  and  I  was  left 
to  dress.  I  was  appalled.  My  neat 
gray  travelling-suit  was  ragged, 
muddied,  and  blood-stained.  My 
felt  hat  was  torn  half  across.  When 
I  contrived  to  clothe  myself  I 
asked  for  a  needle  and  thread  and 
tried  to  repair  certain  rents.  It  re 
sulted  in  sewing  my  pantaloons  to 
my  drawers. 

The  little  ward  was  now  empty 
and  the  doctor  gone  on  a  fishing 
holiday.  After  I  had  been  up  and 
dressed  an  hour  the  nurse  came 
with  my  usual  diet  of  bread  and 
milk.  It  was  certainly  good  for 
31 


NEW   SAMARIA 

me,  but  not  otherwise  desirable,  as 
I  disliked  milk. 

I  stuffed  the  unread  Herald  into 
my  pocket,  said  good-by  to  Miss 
Jane,  and,  a  little  giddy,  went 
down  a  narrow  hall-way  to  the 
street.  I  looked  up  and  down  the 
road.  It  was  very  hot,  and  few 
people  were  out-of-doors.  I  re 
member  saying  to  myself,  "  Shall  I 
go  to  the  right  or  to  the  left?"  when 
suddenly  I  remembered  that  I  was 
penniless.  Although  I  was  still 
seriously  weak,  the  comic  element 
of  my  situation  was  at  times  upper 
most  in  my  mind.  It  was  plain 
that  for  a  very  few  days  I  must 
manage  to  live  by  my  wits — but 
32 


NEW   SAMARIA 

how?  Work  I  could  not.  Re 
turning,  I  rang  the  bell.  The  door 
was  opened  by  Miss  Jane. 

I  said,  "  You  are  very  hard  peo 
ple.  I  am  not  fit  to  go  out." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  what  can 
I  dor 

"  That  is  my  question  too.  No 
one  believes  me  to  be  a  man  by 
accident  left  without  money.  I 
don't  think  I  would  believe  it.  I 
never  did  believe  beggar  stories ; 
but  you  do  know  I  am  a  man 
without  home,  without  money,  and 
too  weak  to  work.  I  want  you  to 
give  me  half  a  dollar." 

"  I  can't  give  you  that  much ;  I 
will  give  you  a  quarter." 

3  33 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I  felt  myself  flush  as  I  returned, 
"  Pray,  pardon  me  ;  I  ought  to  have 
thought.  I  should  have  asked  you 
to  lend  me  that  amount."  I  realized 
then  and  there  the  tremendous  gap 
between  competence  and  the  out 
stretched  hand  of  want.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  sense  of  humiliation  was 
immense;  nevertheless,  I  took  the 
coin  and  said,  "  That  makes  twenty- 
eight  cents  in  all.  You  believe  me 
a  tramp  or  worse,  but  kindly  tell 
me  where  I  shall  go  to  get  a  bed. 
Even  tramps  must  sleep."  Upon 
this  she  drew  out  another  quarter 
and  said,  "  I  just  ought  not,  but  I 
must.  Some  one  will  feed  and  lodge 
you  for  fifty  cents.  We'd  keep  you 

34 


NEW   SAMARIA 

along  till  you  got  strong,  but  we 
shut  up  to-morrow  for  repairs.  I 
am  awful  sorry.  Indeed  I  am." 

I  thanked  her.  I  looked  back  as 
I  moved  away.  She  was  watching 
me.  I  was  glad  to  find,  as  I  walked 
on  in  the  cooling  twilight,  that  I 
was  better  of  my  vertigo.  That  I 
was  a  notable  object  was  soon  made 
clear  to  me.  The  boys  in  the  street 
jeered  at  me.  I  went  to  the  tele 
graph  office.  Here  I  asked  the 
clerk  to  send  a  message  to  my 
partner. 

"  Arrange  credit  at  New  Samaria 
bank  at  once  ;  am  without  funds. 
C.O.D. 

"GEORGE  WOODBURN." 

35 


NEW   SAMARIA 

The  clerk  declined.  He  was 
civil,  but  firm.  He  glanced  at  my 
pantaloons,  and  the  hat  confirmed 
his  judgment.  No,  I  had  to  con 
fess  that  I  had  no  abode  in  New 
Samaria  and  no  money.  A  paid 
telegram  was  beyond  my  means. 
I  gave  that  up.  Again  I  was  grimly 
amused.  I  said,  "  This  town  thinks 
I  am  a  tramp  or  a  gambler,  and  so 
do  you." 

u  I  do.     You  can  bet  on  that." 

"Well,  I  am  worth  about  three 
millions.  Suppose  you  bet  the  cost 
of  a  telegram  on  the  chance  of  its 
being  true.  Think  not4?  Much 
obliged." 

I  went  out.  Looking  back  is  in- 
36 


NEW   SAMARIA 

structive ;  my  friend  was  gayly  re 
lating  the  tale.  I  hesitated  where 
next  I  should  go,  but,  still  satisfied 
that  my  language  and  manners  must 
be  such  as  to  get  me  a  quiet  hear 
ing,  I  turned  and  walked  to  the  tav 
ern  where  my  calamities  had  begun. 
I  found  the  owner  even  too  easily. 
At  first  he  did  not  know  me.  When 
I  began  to  defend  myself  by  stating 
my  case  he  poured  out  a  series  of 
epithets  which  at  once  disposed  of 
my  modest  hopes  of  a  lodging,  and 
taking  me  by  the  arm  dragged  me 
out  and  threw  me  on  the  sidewalk. 
I  was  too  feeble  to  resist.  My  hurt 
arm  was  no  better  for  the  treatment. 
Sore  and  furious,  and  dirtier  than 
37 


NEW   SAMARIA 

ever,  I  staggered  to  my  feet,  and 
after  a  little  sat  down  in  the  dusk  on 
a  doorstep.  A  grizzled,  mangy  cur, 
clearly  a  tramp,  loafed  across  the 
street,  and  recognizing  me  as  a  com 
rade,  put  his  nose  in  my  hand,  and 
finally  sat  down  to  await  my  pleas 
ure.  I  sat  still  awhile  in  the  twi 
light,  patting  my  canine  friend,  and 
speculating  upon  his  genealogy. 
He  was,  clearly,  of  good  ancestry — 
mostly  colley — with  queer  terrier 
crosses,  and  with  large,  sad,  attentive 
brown  eyes.  He,  too,  was  an  un 
friended  wanderer.  His  watchful 
ways  and  too  apparent  ribs  con 
fessed  his  want  of  an  owner,  and 
his  fears  and  needs.  There  came 
38 


NEW   SAMARIA 

out  of  the  house  a  man  in  a  dirty 
linen  duster  and  invited  us  to  "  get 
out"  in  language  of  expressive  char 
acter.  The  dog  was  quick  to  fly. 
I  rose  slowly,  staggering,  and  giddy. 
As  I  moved  away  the  dog  rejoined 
me,  and  looked  up  at  me  as  if  in 
doubt  of  the  protective  capacity  of 
the  master  he  had  selected. 

My  sense  of  the  comic  was  fast 
leaving  me.  I  went  into  a  drug- 
shop  and  asked  where  the  president 
of  the  bank  lived.  The  man  in 
charge  said  it  was  a  mile  out  of 
town,  and  I  was  told  the  way. 
Then  I  said  I  was  just  out  of  the 
hospital  and  weak ;  could  I  rest  a 
little. 

39 


NEW  SAMARIA 

"Why,  yes." 

I  sat  down.  He  asked  where  I 
came  from. 

"New  York." 

"What's  your  business?" 

"  Banker."     I  related  my  story. 

Then  the  man  said,  "  I  wouldn't 
make  it  all  so  big.  You  ought  to 
write  for  the  papers." 

"I  knew  you  would  not  be 
lieve  me." 

"I  don't,  and  I've  got  to  shut 
up." 

Then  I  moved  on  again  and 
kept  moving,  like  a  famous  boy  in 
a  certain  novel.  I  walked  out  of 
the  town  in  the  darkness,  and  on  to 
a  country  road,  feeling  better  and 
40 


NEW  SAMARIA 

wishing  I  had  a  cigar.  At  last  I 
got  over  a  fence  and  found  a  lot  of 
heaps  of  hay.  On  one  of  these  I 
lay  down,  thankful  for  the  warmth 
of  a  July  night.  I  slept  well,  and, 
waking  at  dawn,  saw  a  man  stand 
ing  in  front  of  me.  I  knew  him  at 
once.  It  was  the  man  who  had 
begged  of  me  as  I  was  entering  my 
ill-fated  wagon.  He  had  a  rake  in 
his  hand,  a  sturdy  yellow-haired 
fellow  with  a  big  kindly  face. 

"  Halloa,"  he  said,  "  better  get  up. 
The  boss  will  be  along,  and  he's 
rough  on  tramps." 

I  rose  with  some  difficulty.  The 
man  gave  me  a  hand  and  said,  "You 
look  right  bad.  What's  wrong*?" 
41 


NEW  SAMARIA 

I  told  him  I  had  been  hurt  and 
was  just  out  of  a  hospital.  He  did 
not  recognize  me,  which  was  not 
surprising.  The  notion  came  to 
me  that  I  would  see  if  a  fellow- 
tramp  would  believe  me.  I  said, 
"If  I  tell  you  a  queer  story,  will 
you  think  it  is  a  lie?" 

"Why  should  I T 

"  I  am  not  a  tramp.  I  am  a  rich 
man,  but  no  one  here  believes  it." 

"Well,  why  not?  I  was  rich 
once.  I  had  five  thousand  dollars 
once." 

"Indeed!     And  it  is  all  gone?" 

"Oh,  yes,  old  story, — bad  years, 
mortgage  on  farm,  and  busted.  No 
work  and  took  to  wandering.  I 
42 


NEW   SAMARIA 

got  a  job  ten  days  ago.     When  you 
get  that  fortune  back  do  you  just 
remember  Thad  Petersen.    Got  any 
money?" 
"No." 

"  Well,  here's  ten  cents."  I  took 
it.  Once  he  had  asked  charity  of 
me;  I  had  answered,  "No;"  now 
he  it  was  who  gave  unasked.  I 
thanked  him,  and  as  I  walked  away 
he  cried  after  me,  "Round  the  turn 
there's  a  house.  There's  a  right 
nice  woman  lives  there ;  guess  she'll 
give  you  a  hand  out." 

"  What  on  earth  is  a  hand  out?" 
"  Oh,  a  bite  of  something." 
I  went  on.     I  began  to  see  how 
hard  it  was  to  tell  a  true  story  so  as 

43 


NEW  SAMARIA 

to  be  believed.  I  concluded  that, 
as  I  meant  to  make  my  tongue 
secure  my  breakfast,  I  would  fall 
back  upon  fiction.  I  went  up  to 
the  open  door  of  the  little  cottage 
and  smelt  tobacco.  This  had  the 
double  effect  of  making  me  greatly 
want  to  smoke  and  of  assuring  me 
that  a  man  was  within,  and  that  I 
was,  therefore,  less  secure  of  a  meal 
than  I  should  have  been  without 
the  too  critical  charity  of  my  own 
sex.  I  knocked  with  the  timidity 
of  the  hungry.  A  very  young  and 
rosy  woman  came  out  of  the  back 
room.  "What  is  it?"  she  said. 

I  replied,  hastily,  "  I  am  an  un 
fortunate  man  just  out  of  the  hos- 

44 


NEW   SAMARIA 

pital.  I  have  a  wife  and  nine 
children ;  the  youngest  is  blind  and 
my  wife  is  sick." 

"  Poor  thing.     How  old  is  she?" 

"  About  twenty-five." 

This  seemed  to  strike  the  woman 
as  comical.  She  laughed  merrily. 
"Well,  you  are  certainly  a  very 
lively  liar.  Aren't  you  the  man 
that  got  drunk  and  drove  poor  Mr. 
Smile's  horse  into  a  circus  and 
broke  my  husband's  leg,  and  told 
him  you  were  a  banker  and  worth 
three  millions  ?  Oh,  dear,  but  you 
can  fib,  and  you  don't  do  it  well.  I 
could  fib  better,  and  oh,  my !  that 
poor  wife  and  nine  children  at 
twenty-five  years  of  age  !" 

45 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Upon  this  she  fell  into  a  chair 
and  laughed  herself  into  prodigality 
of  tears.  At  last  she  said,  "Wait 
a  bit.  It  won't  keep.  It's  too  big 
a  joke.  I'll  fetch  you  some  milk 
and  bread,  but  I  must  tell  Tom 
first." 

With  this  she  fled,  laughing  as 
she  went.  Then  I  laughed,  too, 
and  sat  down  on  the  stone  steps, 
relieved  to  know  that  my  comrade 
in  calamity  was  incapable  of  active 
hostility.  When  the  woman  came 
back  she  was  so  ashake  with  this 
cherished  joke  that  the  milk  was 
spilling  over. 

"Good  Heavens!"  I  said,  "don't 
spill  that  milk." 

46 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it's  my  milk 
I  do  suppose." 

Humility  and  hunger  suggested 
a  modest  "Yes,  ma'am."  I  swal 
lowed  the  milk  and  bread  while  she 
stood  and  watched  me.  "Would 
you  like  more*?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

She  went  away  and  came  back 
with  a  pitcher  of  milk  and  a  half- 
loaf  of  bread,  and  again  studied  my 
performance  with  amused  and  not 
unkindly  curiosity.  I  thanked  her 
warmly  and  was  about  to  journey 
on  when  it  occurred  to  me  to  fur 
ther  test  this  amiable,  merry  woman. 

I  said,  "  How  would  you  like  to 
lend  me  five  dollars  ?" 

47 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"Not  at  all.  Five  dollars,  and 
Tom  in  bed  for  weeks !  You  must 
really  think  me  a  fool.  What 
would  you  do  with  five  dol 
lars?" 

"I  should  get  a  good  dinner, 
smoke  a  good  cigar,  and  wire  to 
New  York." 

"To  that  lady  of  twenty-five 
years  old,  the  mother  of  nine? 
Now,  I  would.  She'll  be  right 
anxious." 

I  was  fed  and  rested  and  gay — 
sure  soon  to  be  altogether  at  ease. 
I  laughed  and  said,  "Suppose  I 
were  to  tell  you  my  true  story.  It 
would  be  worth — now,  what  would 
it  be  worth  ?" 

48 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"Well,  twenty-five  cents." 

She  put  it  in  my  ready  palm. 
"  I  promise  you  a  true  story.  I  am 
a  rich  man ;  I  am  here  on  business. 
I  was  never  drunk  in  my  life.  The 
horse  was  frightened  and  ran  away; 
the  rest  I  do  not  remember.  I 
lost  my  purse,  watch,  and  cigar- 
case." 

She  shook  her  head.  "Do  rich 
people  travel  without  baggage?" 

I  added  the  sad  tale  of  a  lost  and 
stolen  check.  Then  I  said,  "It 
sounds  too  complete,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  No.  A  liar  and  a  tramp  would 
have  been  more  cunning.  You  are 

not    a    real    tramp.     You  may  be 
4  49 


NEW   SAMARIA 

worse,   or    better.     Any  way,  you 
look  worse  than  Tom." 

"Suppose  on  the  faith  of  your 
doubt  you  invest  to  the  extent  of  a 
dollar.  It  might  pay." 

"  You  are  no  tramp,  that's  sure, 
and  if  you  are  lying  or  not  I  can 
not  tell.  Wait  a  little."  She  was 
back  in  a  moment.  "Tom  says 
he  doesn't  believe  a  word  of  it, 
but  that  you  must  be  pretty  badly 
off,  and  I  was  to  say  he  was  sorry 
(I  am  too),  and  to  give  you  a 
dollar." 

I  took  it,  well  pleased,  saying, 
"You  ought  to  tell  me  not  to  get 
drunk  on  it." 

"  I  was  going  to." 
50 


I  went  away  down  the  road 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  People  usually  do.  I  have  done 
it  often,"  I  said,  as  I  was  about  to 
leave  her.  "  You  have  been  really 
very  good  to  me.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  no  one  believes  me,  but  that 
does  not  alter  my  obligation  to  you. 
Some  day  you  will  be  thankful  that 
you  fed  a  hungry  man." 

"But  I  am  always  thankful  for 
that." 

I  said,  "  Good-morning,  madam." 

"Oh!    good-by." 

I  went  away  down  the  road  with 
the  remnants  of  my  loaf,  missing 
the  dog,  who  had  left  me  the  night 
before  to  forage  for  himself.  The 
air  was  cooler,  the  country  pleasant. 
I  wandered  into  by-roads,  or  sat  and 
Si 


NEW   SAMARIA 

considered  ways  and  means  of  bet 
tering  myself.  I  did  steal  four  pears 
(they  were  lying  near  the  road).  I 
watched  some  boys  fishing  in  a 
mill-race  and  gave  useful  sporting 
advice.  One  of  them  presented  me 
with  an  aged  apple,  a  russet.  After 
they  had  gone  I  sat  down  by  the 
mill-stream,  ate  a  little  stale  bread, 
and — from  habit — feeling  for  the 
absent  luxury  of  a  handkerchief, 
became  aware  of  the  newspaper  in 
my  breast-pocket.  It  was  only  a 
fragment — a  small  half-sheet.  I  set 
tled  myself  on  the  grass  with  some 
curiosity  as  to  this  bit  of  biography. 
I  still  have  the  paper.  It  ran 
thus: 

52 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"OVERWHELMING  CATAS 
TROPHE. 


"  DRUNKEN   HORSE-THIEF ATTEMPT    TO 

STEAL   MR.    JOSEPH   SMILED   MARE. 

"  Yesterday  a  man  without  baggage 
arrived  at  the  Washington  Hotel  and 
hired  a  man  to  drive  him  to  the  mines. 
He  got  rid  of  the  driver  on  some  pre 
text  and  drove  himself  down  the  hill. 
There  he  collided  with  the  Boss  Ele 
phant  of  the  circus,  smashed  the  wagon, 
killed  the  mare  and  a  monkey,  lamed  a 
zebra,  and  broke  his  own  head.  Our 
distinguished  young  financier,  Mr. 
Thomas  Sedgeley,  the  cashier  of  the 
bank,  stopped  the  horse  and  saved  the 
life  of  the  horse-thief  at  the  cost  to  him 
self  of  a  broken  leg.  The  circus  people 
53 


NEW   SAMARIA 

carried    both    men    to     the     poorhouse 
hospital. 

"  Mr.  Smile  has  the  sympathy  of 
his  fellow-townsmen.  The  man  may 
recover.  His  injuries  probably  saved 
him  from  the  prompt  punishment  of  a 
justly  infuriated  community.  Mr. 
Sedgeley  is  doing  well." 

I  began  to  see,  as  I  read  this  over, 
that  my  future  in  New  Samaria  was 
not  to  be  unclouded.  Assuredly,  as 
a  statement  of  facts,  the  report 
lacked  accuracy,  but  if  a  newspaper 
were  always  accurate,  what  would 
there  be  left  to  say  next  day  *? 

On  this  Saturday  evening  I  went 
back  to  the  town  and  spent  thirty 
cents  on  a  luxurious  supper.  I 
54 


NEW   SAMARIA 

bought  two  two-cent  cigars  and  a 
box  of  sulphur  matches,  and  then 
returned  to  the  country  and  my  hay- 
heap  hotel.  No  tobacco  was  ever 
so  good.  On  the  way  my  dog 
friend  rejoined  me.  About  nine 
next  day,  being  Sunday,  I  smoked 
my  second  cigar  and  counted  my 
cash: 

50  cents  from  the  nurse 
10  cents  from  Petersen 
25  cents  from  Mrs.  Tom 
100  cents  from       ditto 


Total, 


I  sat  at  ease,  played  with  the  dog, 
and   considered  my  financial  situa- 

55 


NEW   SAMARIA 

tion.  Thirty  cents  had  gone  to 
sustain  life  and  four  cents  to  make 
it  cheerful.  I  could  have  wired  to 
New  York,  but  then  I  must  live, 
and  it  seemed  well  that  I  should 
keep  up  my  strength,  and  my  hun 
ger  was  that  of  a  convalescent. 

As  I  sauntered  into  town  this 
Sunday  morning,  my  grizzled  dog 
slaked  his  thirst  at  a  wayside  stream, 
where  I  stayed  to  wash  my  band 
ages.  I  dried  them  and  replaced 
them  with  difficulty.  As  I  entered 
the  town,  the  dog  at  my  heels,  I 
heard  a  church-bell  ringing.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  it  only  suggested  the 
brilliant  idea  that  here  was  a  place 
where  I  could  rest.  I  went  into 
56 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  bare  brick  chapel  with  the  want 
of  assurance  bred  of  being  ill  clad 
and  of  the  treatment  to  which  I  had 
been  subjected.  I  did  not  expect 
to  be  received  with  that  eager  hos 
pitality  which  in  city  churches  so 
warmly  welcomes  a  disreputable- 
looking  man,  but  by  good-luck  it 
was  very  hot  and  the  congregation 
was  scanty.  I  entered  a  well-cush 
ioned  pew  far  back  and  near  to  the 
door.  No  one  came  to  my  pew. 
When  the  service  began  I  arranged 
my  cushions  and  enjoyed  comfort 
unknown  for  days.  I  slept  through 
the  sermon,  which  seemed  to  me 
quite  too  brief. 

I  think  my  canine  friend  missed 

57 


NEW   SAMARIA 

me,  for  just  as  the  sermon  began  he 
scratched  at  the  door  of  the  pew. 
It  was  not  my  business,  and  I  let 
him  amuse  himself.  Some  one  told 
him  to  get  out,  which  he  apparently 
misunderstood,  for  he  walked  lazily 
along  the  aisle  and  went  up  into  the 
pulpit.  The  preacher,  in  apparent 
uneasiness,  asked  somebody  to  re 
move  that  dog.  My  tramp  did  not 
wait,  but,  conscious  of  being  un 
welcome,  went  down  the  middle 
aisle  and  out  of  the  church.  If 
there  be  a  religion  for  dogs,  he  had 
not  found  it  here.  After  this  I  fell 
asleep,  as  I  have  said. 

After  church  I  spent  ten  cents  on 
milk  and  bread  and  priced  a  pipe ; 
58 


NEW   SAMARIA 

it  was  beyond  my  means.  I  found, 
as  I  expected,  that  I  could  not  tele 
graph  on  the  Sabbath.  I  recall  that 
latter  half-day  as  the  only  one  in 
which  I  felt  at  all  bored  during  this 
Bohemian  time. 

Milk  and  bread  seemed  to  lack 
permanence  as  a  diet,  and  at  dusk  I 
was  cruelly  hungry ;  but,  resolved 
on  economy,  I  tried  two  farm 
houses  before  I  could  get  as  much 
as  a  crust,  and  it  was  eight  o'clock 
when  I  persuaded  an  old  woman 
that  I  needed  help.  I  drank  her 
sour  milk  and  retired  to  the  bank 
of  a  brook,  where  I  ate  my  remnant 
of  bread,  finding  it  pleasant  under 
the  willows. 

59 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I  meant  on  Monday,  if  I  had 
enough  money,  to  wire  my  office; 
but  foresaw  that,  do  what  I  might, 
I  should  still  need  some  one  to 
vouch  for  my  identity.  Altogether 
the  outlook  was  not  reassuring. 
About  seven  P.M.  I  felt  a  drop  of 
rain  and  saw  signs  overhead  of  more 
to  come.  The  Inn  of  Out  of  Doors 
is  pleasant  enough  when  skies  are 
fair  in  mid-July,  but  the  absence  of 
a  roof  may  prove  uncomfortable. 
I  got  up  and,  as  I  remember,  took 
off  rny  ragged  hat  and  looked  at  it. 
Why,  I  do  not  know,  except  that  I 
saw  Joe  Jefferson  do  it  in  playing 
Rip  Van  Winkle.  I  laughed  as  I 

recalled  my  home,  and  my  stables, 

60 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  the  club,  and  the  busy  life  of 
my  office.  I  was  beginning,  how 
ever,  to  acquire  a  certain  respect  for 
my  ability  to  overcome  the  difficul 
ties  of  my  curious  isolation,  and, 
indeed,  at  times  to  enjoy  what  I 
knew  to  be  only  temporary  mis 
fortune.  My  dog  had  left  me  to 
forage  somewhere. 

I  wanted  a  dry  shelter ;  I  knew 
better  than  to  try  the  barns  ;  the  dogs 
of  Samaria  were  by  no  means  ami 
able.  Then  I  remembered  the 
church.  It  was  nearly  dark  when 
I  entered  the  graveyard.  It  was 
supper-time  and  no  one  was  near.  I 
found  a  window  at  the  back  which 
opened  with  ease,  and  climbing  in  I 
61 


NEW   SAMARIA 

closed  the  sash.  By  the  fast-fading 
light  I  saw  that  I  was  in  what 
seemed  to  be  a  modest  study. 
Here  were  half  a  hundred  books,  a 
desk,  sermon-paper,  and,  above  all, 
a  lounge. 

I  was  soon  at  ease.  The  time 
for  an  evening  service  went  by.  I 
began  to  think  how  pleasant  it 
would  be  to  write  a  sermon  and 
leave  it  for  the  parson's  use.  Then 
I  began  to  be  conscious  of  a  want. 
If  only  I  had  a  pipe,  a  cigarette,  a 
cigar.  I  think  this  was  a  suggestion 
due  to  the  stale  odor  of  tobacco, 
which  revealed  one  weakness  of  the 
gentleman  who  had  that  morning 
so  soothed  me  into  slumber.  Per- 
62 


NEW   SAMARIA 

haps — oh  strong-winged  hope  ! — 
perhaps  he  kept  here  his  pipe  and 
his  tobacco  ! 

I  came  upon  a  glass  kerosene- 
lamp  set  on  a  table  and  longed  to 
light  it ;  prudence  prevailing,  I  re 
sisted  the  temptation.  Amidst  the 
increasing  gloom  I  began  a  search, 
conducted  chiefly  by  touch.  If  I 
were  found  opening  drawers  and 
desk  I  should  surely  be  convicted 
as  a  burglar,  but  no  one  was  near. 
By  and  by,  on  a  chair,  shut  in  a 
thick  book,  I  found  a  short  pipe  (I 
suspected  what  book  it  was,  but 
shall  never  say).  I  had  a  kind  of 
joy  unknown  since,  as  a  boy,  I  ate 
my  first  stolen  green  apple.  I  came 
63 


NEW   SAMARIA 

next  upon  a  small  bag  of  tobacco 
in  the  second  drawer  from  the  top 
on  the  left  of  the  desk.  Not  to  be 
seen  of  any,  I  sat  on  the  floor,  and, 
having  sulphur  matches  in  slabs,  I 
lit  my  pipe.  I  sat  still  with  my 
back  to  the  wall,  deliciously  com 
fortable,  while  overhead  the  rain 
roared  on  the  roof.  I  was  soon  to 
learn  a  lesson  as  to  the  limitations 
of  human  happiness. 

I  heard  a  noise  within  the  church 
of  a  door  closed,  and  then  sleps.  I 
learned  long  after  that  the  good 
clergyman  was  apt  to  enter  his  study 
by  this  way.  I  stuffed  pipe  and 
tobacco  into  my  pocket,  and  in  the 
darkness  dropped  a  row  of  matches. 
64 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Awkward  from  weakness,  I  stum 
bled  across  a  chair,  put  out  a  saving 
hand,  and  knocked  over  the  kero 
sene-lamp  ;  it  fell  with  a  crash.  I 
smelt  the  stuff  just  as  I  saw  a  yellow 
flash  and  knew  that  I  had  set  my 
foot  on  the  matches.  I  understood 
at  once  what  must  happen.  I 
snatched  at  the  matches  as  they 
flamed  up.  It  was  too  late.  My 
hand  was  in  the  oil,  and  the  flame 
caught  my  soaked  bandage.  The 
oil  was  all  over  the  floor  in  a 
moment.  I  threw  up  a  sash  and 
jumped  out,  smothering  the  burning 
bandage  with  my  coat-tail,  and  ran 
for  my  life  through  the  darkness, 
stumbling  over  gravestones,.  It 

*  65 


NEW   SAMARIA 

was  raining  heavily.  When  across 
a  dozen  fields  I  pulled  up,  well 
blown,  and  looked  back.  The 
wooden  addition  to  the  church  was 
blazing  and  the  side  windows  of  the 
main  building  were  glowing  with 
ominous  red.  It  was  a  very  fine, 
complete,  and  undisturbed  fire,  but 
I  did  not  enjoy  it.  I  was  in  the 
eyes  of  Samaria  a  tramp  and  prob 
ably  a  horse-thief.  Now  I  had 
burned  their  church  up — or  down, 
as  you  like  to  put  it.  I  was  really 
terrified  at  the  prospect  of  what 
might  happen  to  me  if  my  involun 
tary  arson  became  known.  Who 
would  believe  me? 

As  I  smelt  horribly  of  kerosene, 
66 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  as  my  bandages  were  evidently 
scorched,  I  thought  it  as  well  to 
conceal  this  material  evidence  of 
guilt.  I  tore  off  the  outer  rolls  and 
put  them  in  the  brook  and  piled 
stones  on  them.  I  needed  them, 
but  the  need  not  to  wear  them  was 
the  more  urgent  need. 

I  wandered  on.  The  night  was 
long  and  wet.  At  last,  completely 
soaked,  I  lay  down  and  fell  asleep. 
I  shall  not  dwell  on  my  misery.  I 
had  made  a  great  escape  and  was 
thankful;  moreover,  I  had, — good 
Heavens  ! — I  had  stolen  a  pipe  and 
tobacco,  oh,  enough  for  a  week.  I 
discovered  this  at  dawn.  Properly 
speaking,  penitence  should  have 
67 


NEW  SAMARIA 

been  accompanied  with  unwilling 
ness  to  profit  by  my  crime. 

I  lighted  a  pipe  to  assist  me  in 
the  settlement  of  this  problem  in 
morals.  I  only  clouded  counsel 
with  the  pleasant  results  of  wicked 
ness.  It  takes  at  least  four  hours 
of  the  sun  of  July  to  dry  clothes 
on  a  man.  I  never  before  knew 
that. 

About  ten  on  Monday  I  drove  a 
hard  bargain,  and  had  for  breakfast, 
at  a  cost  of  seven  cents,  a  bowl  of 
milk  and  bread  as  usual.  Thus  re- 
enforced,  I  went  past  the  smoking 
wreck  of  the  church,  reflecting  on 
my  amazing  connection  with  the 
ruin.  Ingenious  comments  as  to 
68 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  cause  of  the  fire  were  being 
made  by  a  loitering  crowd. 

I  found  my  telegraph-man  and 
asked  him  to  write,  as  I  could  not 
use  a  pen.  He  grinned,  and  "  What 
was  it  this  time  he  was  to  wire  *?" 

I  said,  "  To  Woodburn  &  Caru- 
thers,  3  Wall  Street,  New  York. 
Wire  credit,  New  Samaria  Bank, 
ten  thousand  dollars." 

He  said,  "  That  would  be,  at 
fifteen  cents  a  word,  one  dollar  and 
twenty  cents."  He  seemed  to  think 
it  a  grim  joke. 

I  had  left  a  capital  of  fourteen 
cents. 

After  this  I  went  to  the  bank, 
attracting  some  attention  by  my 
69 


NEW   SAMARIA 

raggedness.  The  bank  appeared  to 
have  been  once  a  small  brick  chapel. 
It  was  now  converted  to  the  use  of 
Mammon.  It  had  a  look  outside 
of  melancholy  indefiniteness,  but 
within  was  prosperous  with  varnish 
and  paint.  I  saw  no  one  but  an 
old,  very  bald  man  perched  on  a 
stool  behind  bars. 

I  said,  "  I  want  to  see  the  presi 
dent."  Upon  this  the  bald  man 
became  abruptly  excited. 

"  Don't  have  no  tramps  here. 
You  get  out,  and  pretty  quick  too." 
His  unlooked-for  alertness  was  em 
phasized  by  a  revolver,  which  he 
laid  on  the  counter. 

I  said,  "  I  will  keep  away  from 
70 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  counter,  but  it  will  do  no  harm 
to  hear  what  I  say." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"You  will  get  a  wire  from  the 
Eleventh  National  Bank,  New 
York,  crediting  me,  George  Wood- 
burn,  with  ten  thousand  dollars.  I 
will  come  back  about  half-past 
two." 

As  I  reflected  on  my  appearance 
I  said  to  myself,  "What  will  the 
man  say  *?"  My  statement  was  cal 
culated  to  tax  the  credulity  of  man 
or  banker.  I  was  pale,  in  rags,  dirty, 
with  plasters  on  my  face,  and  the 
remnant  of  a  dirty  bandage  on  my 
right  wrist. 

"Yes.  You'd  best  come  then. 
71 


NEW  SAMARIA 

If  I  was  you  I'd  have  made  it  thirty 
thousand  dollars.     Set-up  job." 

"  I  thought  of  wiring  for  more," 
said  I,  laughing. 

This  seemed  to  excite  the  bald 
man,  and  he  let  loose  on  me  such 
ingenuity  of  epithets  as  a  mule- 
driver  would  have  envied.  I  left 
him  unanswered.  My  vocabulary 
is  limited.  I  bought  one  cigar  and 
inspected  the  town. 

I  had  learned  much  in  the  last 
four  days  and  had  added  volumes 
of  varied  knowledge  to  the  library 
of  memory.  I  never  in  my  life 
believed  a  beggar's  tale,  and  now 
that  no  one  credited  mine  I  was 
amused,  and,  I  may  add,  instruc- 
72 


NEW   SAMARIA 

tively  astonished.  My  funds  were 
down  to  twelve  cents.  I  was  now 
well  used  to  my  extraordinary  out 
fit,  and  took  little  note  of  the  atten 
tion  I  received,  except  to  wonder 
why  the  dogs  so  mistook  a  gentle 
man  as  to  bark  at  his  toilet.  But 
the  dogs  of  New  Samaria  seemed 
to  share  the  prejudices  of  their  mas 
ters.  I  spent  three  cents  on  milk, 
and  was  sure  that  under  this  simple 
diet  I  was  fast  gaining  strength  and 
freedom  from  vertigo.  I  was  thus 
reduced  to  a  capital  of  nine 
cents. 

It  was  warm  when,  close  to  three 
o'clock,  I  re-entered  the  bank.     As 
before,  the  bald  man  was  alone. 
73 


NEW  SAMARIA 

I  said,  "Have  you  heard  from 
my  firm  and  the  bank  ?" 

"Well,  about  that  I  can't  say. 
There  is  a  telegram  to  credit  a  man 
named  Woodburn  with  ten  thou 
sand  dollars." 

"Well?"    I  saw  his  doubt. 

"  You  sent  a  wire  ?  They  say  at 
the  office  a  tramp  sent  a  wire  for 
ten  thousand  dollars.  I  took  it  as 
a  joke,  or  that  you  was  off  your 
head,  the  way  you  was  after  killing 
that  mare.  Now,  you  want  the 
money  *?" 

"  Yes.     Not  all  at  once." 

"  But  it's  damned  ridiculous.     I 
don't    know    if  you're    you    or    if 
you're  some  one  else." 
74 


NEW  SAMARIA 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  suppose  I  clear 
your  head  a  little.  Look  at  the 
telegram ;  it  has  a  number  at  the 
beginning  and  one  at  the  end." 

"  That's  so.  It's  pretty  suspi 
cious." 

"  Very  good.  Look  at  the  tele 
gram.  The  first  number  is  made 
up  of  the  day  of  the  week,  the 
second  of  the  day  of  the  month, 
the  lyth.  That  makes  19.  Isn't 
that  so4?" 

"  Yes,  that's  so,  but  how  you 
knew  it  darned  if  I  know.  All  ar 
ranged,  I  guess.  Set  up  in  New 
York." 

"No  matter.  My  house  does 
this  to  prevent  telegraphic  misuse  of 

75 


NEW   SAMARIA 

our  name.  Of  course,  we  change 
our  method  from  time  to  time." 

The  bald  man  was  a  queer  thing 
to  see.  His  scalp  moved  back  and 
forward  in  a  sort  of  tic,  and  the  two 
quill  pens  in  his  ears  moved  with 
the  scalp  like  undeveloped  wings. 

"  You've  got  to  be  identified,  and 
right  well  too.  Any  fool  would 
know  that.  Knowin'  about  the 
numbers  don't  identify.  You  can't 
plunder  this  bank  that  way." 

"  But  would  they  have  wired  you 
if  I  were  not  known  to  be  here?" 

"  You  may  be  you,  or  some  other 
you,  and  I  don't  pay  a  dime  on 
such  evidence." 

"You  are,  of  course,  wise  to 
76 


NEW   SAMARIA 

guard  your  bank,  but  why  not  wire 
your  correspondents  in  New  York 
and  ask  them  to  inquire  ?  Isn't  it 
worth  while  ?  I " 

"  No,  it  isn't.  You  go  and  get 
a  man  to  say  you're  you,  then 
we  can  talk.  I've  got  to  look  out. 
I'm  only  here  to  keep  house  like 
till  that  red-headed  fool,  Tom 
Sedgeley,  gets  back.  There  ain't 
no  use  of  discussin'  it." 

I  said,  "  Very  well,"  and  went 
away.  The  situation  was,  as  I  had 
anticipated,  serious.  I  could  not 
see  any  speedy  way  out  of  it. 
The  completeness  of  my  isolation 
amused  and  annoyed  me.  I  was 
worth  millions  last  month ;  to-day 
77 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I  was  possessed  of  seven  cents. 
What  I  had  hoped  was  that  the 
wire  would  excite  enough  of  inter 
est  to  cause  reasonable  inquiry. 
The  bald  cashier  was,  on  the  whole, 
right.  In  his  place  the  same  objec 
tions  would  have  occurred  to  me  or 
to  any  business  man,  but  I  should 
have  found  it  worth  while  to  have 
corresponded  by  wire  with  the  New 
York  bank  and  so  settled  the  mat 
ter.  This  he  would  not  do.  As 
for  myself,  I  had  asked  for  too 
much.  I  should  have  wired  for  a 
hundred  dollars.  A  beggar  in  rags 
asking  for  ten  thousand  dollars  was 
certain  to  excite  distrust  I  had 
made  a  foolish  mistake. 
78 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Tramp-like,  the  ease  and  freedom 
of  the  country  drew  me.  It  is  rela 
tively  uncritical  and  unsuspicious. 
I  turned  to  it  as  if  by  instinct,  and 
wandered  out  along  the  only  road 
which  led  away  from  the  river  and 
into  the  rich  prairie-lands.  My 
resource  was  to  see  what  I  could 
get  out  of  the  little  woman  who 
had  helped  me.  On  the  way  I  saw 
my  ten-cent  benefactor,  Petersen, 
raking  hay  in  a  rather  lazy  fashion. 
I  hailed  him  and  we  sat  down  to 
talk. 

"Gettin5  on,  Cap?"  he  said. 

"No,  but  do  you  listen  to 
me." 

He  said  he  would. 

79 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  I've  no  need  to  lie  to  a  fellow- 
tramp." 

"  Oh,  Fm  not  the  genuine  article, 
and  you're  not  a  tramp  at  all." 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  and  I  related  in 
full  my  adventures. 

"Gosh!  and  you're  the  man  I 
asked  to  help  me.  You  were  just 
gettin'  into  a  wagon.  I  didn't  sus 
picion  you  were  the  man.  Clothes 
makes  a  heap  of  difference.  Sup 
pose  it's  all  true.  What  are  you 
goin'  to  do*?  You  can't  work." 

"No,  I  can't  even  write  a  letter. 
The  nurse  wrote  for  me,  but " 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  you'ie 
to  do.  Let's  go  to  the  circus.  It 
only  costs  ten  cents  for  a  back  seat, 
80 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  it's  too  hot  to  work.  I'll  pay," 
he  said,  when  I  confessed  that  I  had 
only  seven  cents. 

The  recklessness  of  the  notion 
captured  my  fancy.  I  was  ac 
quiring  the  carelessness  of  the  true 
tramp.  We  went  along  talking. 
Evidently  he  more  or  less  accepted 
my  story,  but  how  completely  he 
believed  I  could  not  tell,  nor  did  it 
much  concern  me.  Something 
would  turn  up.  I  thoroughly  en 
joyed  the  show,  and  especially  a 
clown,  who  was  anything  but  sober, 
a  circumstance  which  gave  breadth 
and  flavor  to  his  jokes,  as  the  ap 
plause  showed.  When  it  was  over 
we  went  to  see  the  animals  behind 

6  8l 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  tent.  This  required  five  cents 
apiece,  which  my  comrade  paid.  A 
little  later  we  met  the  clown  in  the 
lessening  crowd.  Peterson  asked 
him  what  time  it  was.  He  pulled 
out  my  watch  and  said,  "  Six 
o'clock." 

"By  George,"  I  cried,  "  that's  my 
watch,  and  foolishly  caught  his  arm. 
He  drew  back  with  his  left  to  hit 
me,  when  Petersen  seized  his  wrist. 
The  brief  struggle  called  a  crowd 
around  us,  the  clown  crying  out 
that  these  tramps  wanted  to  steal  his 
watch.  One  of  his  acrobatic  friends 
kindly  suggested  tar  and  feathers, 
when  a  burly  man  of  six  feet  four 
shouldered  the  crowd  aside  and,  ex- 
82 


NEW   SAMARIA 

plaining  that  he  was  the  Sheriff, 
asked  what  was  the  row.  The 
clown  stated  his  case.  The  big 
man  considered  his  powdered  face 
and  then  turned  to  me  with, — 

"  Well,  what's  your  side  of  this 
here  question?" 

I  said,  "  I  was  hurt  in  an  accident 
and  my  watch  stolen,  and " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  You  tried  to 
steal  Smile's  mare,  and  got  too 
drunk  to  do  the  trick." 

"Mr.  Sheriff,"  I  returned,  "this  is 
a  queer  town.  Why  the  mischief 
it  is  called  Samaria  I  really  do  not 
see.  The  man  that  named  it  must 
have  lived  to  be  disappointed.  I 
have  had  every  kind  of  misfortune, 
83 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  no  one  either  helps  me  or  be 
lieves  me." 

The  crowd  became  noisily  inju 
rious.  The  Sheriff  cried,  "  Shut  up, 
you  fellows,"  and  looked  down  on 
me  with  a  slowly  maturing  smile. 
"  You've  got  the  floor.  I  propose 
to  listen." 

I  thought  that  I  had  at  last  found 
a  real  Samaritan,  and  asked  the 
clown,  "Now,  what  kind  of  a  watch 
is  it?" 

The  crowd  was  pleased.  The 
Sheriff  enlarged  his  smile. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Clown,  what  kind?" 
"  Why,  gold,  of  course." 
"  Give  it    to  me,"   said   the  big 
man.       He    quietly    took    it    and 
84 


"  We're  getting  right  warm,"  said  the  Sheriff 


NEW   SAMARIA 

waited  while  the  clown  reluctantly 
released  the  gold  chain  from  its 
button-hole  attachment. 

"  Your  turn,"  said  the  Sheriff  to 
me. 

"  Good,"  I  said,  and  put  a  finger 
on  a  button  as  the  watch  lay  on  the 
Sheriff's  broad  hand.  The  watch 
struck  six-thirty.  The  crowd  was 
still  better  amused,  and  applauded. 
"Now,"  I  said,  "inside  is  the 
number." 

"We're  getting  right  warm," 
said  the  Sheriff.  "  Now,  Mr.  Flour- 
face,  what's  the  number  *?" 

"  Why,  there  isn't  a  man  in  this 
crowd  can  tell  the  number  of  his 
watch." 

8s 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Several  gentlemen  in  boots  and 
wide-awakes  said,  "  That's  so." 

My  friendly  Sheriff  turned  and 
said  to  me,  "  Your  play." 

I  was  dumb  with  horror.  I  could 
not  recall  the  number.  An  hour 
before,  or  after,  it  was  in  my  mind. 
Now  I  had  mentally  mislaid  it. 
The  effort,  the  annoyance,  and  the 
excitement  made  me  feel  slightly 
giddy.  I  managed  to  say,  "  Can't 
remember,"  and  swayed  against 
Petersen. 

44  Drunk,  by  George  !"  said  the 
Sheriff.  "  I  think  I'll  adjourn  this 
court.  Mr.  Clown's  case  is  bad. 
He  doesn't  own  that  watch.  The 
other  man  knows  all  about  what 
86 


NEW   SAMARIA 

that  watch  will  do.  But  that  proves 
nothing.  Anyway,  he  couldn't 
honestly  own  a  watch  like  that. 
Just  look  at  him.  I  shall  keep  that 
watch  until  the  rightful  owner  ap 
pears."  He  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

The  crowd,  by  this  time  grown 
large,  guessed  the  Sheriff  was  about 
right,  and  there  were  various  com 
ments  on  my  looks,  and  proposals 
as  to  what  it  was  advisable  that  a 
town  of  public-spirited  Samaritans 
should  do  with  a  drunken  horse- 
thief. 

The  Sheriff  cried  out,  "  None  of 

that !     Shut  up  and  squander,  you 

fellows."     Then  he  took  me  by  the 

arm  and  passed  through  the  crowd. 

87 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  Now,"  he  said,  as  again  I  reeled, 
dizzy  and  faint,  "  you'd  best  get  out 
of  this  and  find  work.  We  don't 
want  drunken  tramps  'round  this 
town." 

Petersen  had  slipped  away.  It 
was  near  to  sunset,  I  was  alone,  my 
dog  had  left  me,  I  was  without 
friends,  without  money ;  defined 
variously  as  horse-thief,  drunkard, 
policy  agent,  tramp — and  I  had 
burned  a  church.  I  walked  on 
slowly,  a  few  yards  behind  the  great 
bulk  of  the  Sheriff,  asking  myself 
what  next  I  should  do.  Should  I 
speak  to  him  again?  At  this 
moment  he  pulled  a  handkerchief 
out  of  his  pantaloons  pocket  and 


NEW   SAMARIA 

with  it  came  something  which  fell 
unnoticed  by  him  on  the  sidewalk. 
A  few  steps  brought  me  to  it.  I 
picked  up  a  five-dollar  note.  Now, 
I  also  had  the  habit  of  carrying 
notes  in  this  careless  way,  and  more 
than  once  had  lost  them  just  as  he 
had  done.  It  was  a  case  for  doubt. 
Absolute  honesty  presented  a  claim 
to  be  heard.  Hunger  in  several 
varieties  said,  "  Get  a  dinner,  a  cigar, 
a  good  mug  of  beer,  a  clean  bed, 
and  wire  everybody,  and  then,  later, 
return  the  loan."  Honesty  and  her 
twin  sister,  Accuracy,  said,  "  Kindly 
define  a  loan." 

I  resolved  to  obey  the  habits  of  a 
life  and  return   the  note.     I  was  a 
89 


NEW   SAMARIA 

moment  late ;  a  man  caught  me  by 
the  arm  and  called  the  Sheriff.  He 
turned  and  came  back.  The  man 
said,  "Didn't  you  drop  somethin', 
Sheriff?  I  was  crossing  the  street 
and  saw  it.  This  chap's  got 
it." 

The  Sheriff  remembered,  felt  in 
his  pocket,  and  jnissed  the  note.  I 
was,  meanwhile,  offering  it  and  ex 
plaining.  The  big  man  said,  "Well, 
you're  a  trifle  behind  time." 

I  protested  in  vain.  Neither  man 
believed  me,  and  I  was  thankful  to 
be  let  off  with  additional  advice  in 
very  distinct  and  picturesque  varia 
tions  upon  the  normal  tongue  of 
my  country. 

90 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I  turned  about  and  went  again 
out  into  the  farm-lands  in  search  of 
my  Hay-Field  Inn.  I  was  hungry, 
and  so  weak  that  I  was  glad  to  rest 
once  more  at  dusk  on  the  still  un- 
gathered  and  damp  hay.  Too  weary 
to  go  a  half-mile  to  beg  milk  of  the 
wife  of  my  partner  in  calamity,  I 
lay  in  the  deepening  gloom  and 
considered  my  moral  frailty.  I  felt 
that  with  continuity  of  hunger  I 
should  succumb  before  repeated 
temptation,  and  while  weighing  this 
matter  I  fell  asleep. 

I  awakened  at  dawn  and,  despite 

keen  hunger,  felt   better.     A  little 

later  I  set  out  to  find  Petersen  at 

the  farm-house  a  field  away.     I  lin- 

91 


NEW   SAMARIA 

gered  about,   and  it  was  after  six 
when  I  met  him. 

I  said,  "For  Heaven's  sake  get 
me  something  to  eat.  I  am  half- 
starved." 

He  said,  "  You  wait." 

He  came  back  with  two  cold 
pork  chops  and  some  stale  bread. 
I  fell  upon  these  viands  with  eager 
ness. 

Thus  refreshed,  I  said,  "  How 
did  you  get  this  ?  Who  gave  them 
to  you?" 

"  Gave  *?  Oh,  that  woman  don't 
give  ;  I  took  them." 

"Oh."  I  made  no  moral  reflec 
tions  upon  this  method  of  feeding 
the  poor. 

92 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Petersen  looked  on  with  satisfac 
tion.  At  last  he  said,  "You  can't 
go  on  this  way.  How's  your  hand?" 

"  Bad." 

"  Let  me  fix  that  bandage."  As 
he  replaced  it  he  added,  "And  your 
head;  how's  that?" 

"  Better, — much  better." 

"  Sit  down.     Let's  smoke." 

We  sat  and  talked.  When  I 
gave  him  tobacco  he  said  I  must 
have  been  extravagant.  I  admitted 
that. 

My  object  now  was  to  talk  my 
comrade  into  a  mood  either  of  gen 
erosity  or  recklessness.  I  retold  my 
whole  story,  and  as  I  went  on  he 
listened  with  now  and  then  a  not 
93 


NEW   SAMARIA 

unkindly  comment.  At  last  he 
stood  up,  and,  looking  down  on 
me  as  I  sat,  said,  "You're  a-leadin' 
up  to  somethin'.  What  is  it*?" 

I  thought  it  shrewd,  and  said, 
"  I  want  you  to  go  into  a  specula 
tion." 

"Well?" 

"  Lend  me  ten  dollars."  Petersen 
considered  me  curiously  for  quite  a 
minute  in  absolute  silence. 

"Well,  now,  that's  queer;  you're 
a  bit  changed  since  that  day  you 
wouldn't  help  me.  I  didn't  mind 
it  so  much.  I  saw  that  drunken 
driver  had  got  you  riled.  I  got 
work  here  at  the  farm.  The  boss 
knows  my  people.  It's  a  fine  farm. 
94 


NEW   SAMARIA 

I've  quit  knockin'  about.  As  to 
helpin'  any  darn  nonsense  like  you're 
a-sayin',  I  can't  if  I  wanted  to,  I've 
got  two  dollars  and  I'm  owed  four; 
that's  six,  and  that's  all." 

"  Would  your  boss  advance 
wages?" 

"  He  might." 

I  hardly  know  to-day  how  I  won 
that  man.  Certainly  I  talked  my 
best.  At  last  he  said,  "It's  right 
confusin'  and  it's  a  big  gamble. 
You're  no  tramp.  You  say  you're 
rich.  I've  been  poor  enough  to 
believe  anything.  The  poorer  you 
are  the  more  you  believe.  The 
richer  you  are  the  more  you  don't 
believe.  You  wait  here." 

95 


NEW   SAMARIA 

He  was  gone  an  hour.  On  his 
return  he  threw  a  ten-dollar  note  in 
my  lap.  I  said,  "  Thank  you,  my 
good  fellow.  You  have  builded 
better  than  you  knew." 

"Don't  know  as  I  understand 
you.  If  you  mean  it's  a  big  gamble, 
that's  so.  I  kind  of  believe  you, 
and  I  sort  of  don't.  Anyhow,  it's 
done,  and  I  ain't  goin'  back  on  it." 

How  he  arranged  matters  with 
his  employer  I  forgot  to  ask.  I  was 
in  haste  to  see  what  I  could  do 
with  my  borrowed  capital.  I  had 
gone  a  few  yards  when  he  called 
out, — 

"  Halloa,  there !"  I  turned.  "Look 
here,  Mister,  I'm  a-trustin'  you. 
96 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Don't  you  forget,  if  you're  s win- 
dim',  that  it's  my  Minny  you're 
robbin',  and  Becky  too,  and  Becky  " 

I  laughed.  "You  never  did  as 
good  a  day's  work  as  this." 

"May  be,"  said  he,  and  then 
shouldered  his  hoe  and  went  on  to 
his  work.  I  wondered  at  the  man's 
faith;  or  was  it  a  wild  form  of 
charity  ?  or,  as  he  said,  a  gamble  ? 

In  the  town  I  found  a  clothes 
dealer,  and  after  much  bargaining 
came  out  in  an  ill-fitting  tweed  suit 
with  my  old  rags  in  a  bundle.  I 
meant  to  keep  them.  My  shoes 
were  good;  my  headgear  hopeless. 
I  had  now  one  dollar  and  nine  cents. 
I  got  breakfast  for  a  quarter  of  a 
7  97 


NEW   SAMARIA 

dollar,  and  had  eighty-four  cents  left. 
With  this  I  walked  bravely  into  a 
barber's  shop.  I  was  studying  in  a 
mirror  my  face  with  its  unshorn 
stubble  and  red  scars,  when  behind 
me  I  heard  the  Sheriff  say, "  Halloa, 
you  here  yet?" 

I  had  acquired  courage  with  clean 
clothes.  "Mr.  Sheriff,"  I  said,  "if 
you  will  wait  until  I  am  shaved  I 
will  tell  you  the  number  of  my 
watch  and  some  other  things." 

The  Sheriff  could  wait ;  he  took 
a  paper  and  sat  down.  When  I 
was  shaved  clean,  my  hair  cut,  and 
my  face  washed,  I  said,  "May  I 
have  a  word  with  you  ?" 

The  Sheriff  looked  me  over. 
98 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"Why  did  you  want  me  to  wait 
until  you  were  shaved?" 

"Because  you  will  believe  me 
the  better  the  less  I  look  like  a 
tramp." 

"  That's  so ;  does  make  a  differ 
ence.  Suppose  you  come  along 
with  me." 

I  went  with  him.  He  said  no 
more  until  we  came  to  a  comfort 
able  wooden  house.  "  Come  in." 
I  followed  him.  "  Now,"  he  added, 
"  you  set  down."  He  left  me,  say 
ing,  "Be  back  in  a  minute." 

I  wandered  around  the  room, 
and,  looking  out  of  an  open  win 
dow,  was  seen  by  my  dog — tramp. 
He  barked  out  a  joyous  recognition 

99 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  sat  down  to  wait  for  me.  For 
the  moment  I  felt  emotionally  dis 
turbed  by  this  poor  beast's  recog 
nition  and  his  evident  reliance  on 
my  human  help.  Then  I  called 
to  him  and  turned  to  consider  my 
surroundings. 

I  reflected  as  I  took  a  seat  that 
chairs  are  luxuries.  I  can  still  see 
the  flowery  ingrain  carpet,  the  cen 
tre-table  with  four  books  placed 
symmetrically,  the  glass-covered 
artificial  fruit,  the  sparrow-grass 
greenery  in  the  chimney-place,  the 
half-dozen  rocking-chairs.  When 
I  looked  up  and  on  the  wall  recog 
nized  the  death-bed  of  Daniel  Web 
ster  I  knew  whence  the  big  Sheriff 

100 


NEW   SAMARIA 

came.  He  returned  with  a  whole 
some  dame  of  large  person,  her  face 
aglow  with  kindly  curiosity  under  a 
mass  of  rather  rebellious  white 
hair. 

"  Now,  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you. 
I  told  Joe  those  circus  men  robbed 
you.  I  always  said  so.  When 
they  were  here  last  summer  they 
stole  Jeremiah.  Men  that  would 
steal  a  tortoise-shell  cat  blind  of 
one  eye  would  do  most  anything." 

The  true  Samaria  was  in-doors. 
A  mongrel  dog,  two  women,  and 
an  alien  tramp  had  been  kind  to 
me. 

The  Sheriff  broke  into  her  rush 
of  talk.  "  Set  down,  wife.  We've 
101 


NEW   SAMARIA 

got  to  hear  what  Mr. What's 

your  name?" 

"Woodburn,"said  I. 

"  We've  got  to  hear  Mr.  Wood- 
burn." 

"The  watch  is  No.  2359," said  I. 

"That's  so,"  said  the  Sheriff. 
"  But  how  came  you  to  disremem- 
ber  it?" 

"Why,  Joe,"  said  the  wife, 
"  that's  real  silly  of  you.  Why,  I 
forgot  just  now  to  say  Jeremiah  had 
six  toes  on  his  left  hind  foot  and  a 
mole  on  his  lip.  Why,  you  just 
scared  the  man  so  he  couldn't  re 
member.  Sheriff  used  to  scare  me, 
Mr.  Woodburn,  just  a  little." 

"Boot's  on  the  other  leg  nowa- 
102 


NEW   SAMARIA 

days,"  remarked  the  Sheriff.  "  Fact 
is,  I  just  brought  you  away  to  hear 
about  that  watch.  You  see  it  does 
look  queer  all  round,  but  sure  as  I 
live  those  circus  fellows  are  up  a 
tree." 

"Fellows  that  would  steal  a 
tortoise-shell  cat  would " 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  the  Sheriff, 
"this  gentleman's  got  the  floor." 

Thus  encouraged,  I  told  very 
quietly  the  story  of  my  journey,  of 
my  arrival  in  New  Samaria,  and 
of  all  I  was  able  to  remember  of 
my  later  haps  and  mishaps.  At 
the  close  I  said,  "  If  you  will  wire 
to  St.  Louis  in  my  name  to  Mr. 
George  Garvin,  president  of  the 
103 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Third  National  Bank,  to  reply  at 
once,  and  that  I  have  been  slightly 
hurt  and  need  him  here,  you  will 
get  an  answer  at  once  and  the  man 
next  day.  Tell  him  not  to  alarm 
my  people." 

"I  guess  that  musical  watch  is 
yours," said  the  Sheriff.  "You  talk 
to  the  missus.  I'll  go  and  wire 
your  man." 

Left  alone  with  the  Sheriff's  wife 
I  said  to  her  that  the  dog  outside 
had  been  one  of  the  few  friends  I 
had  made,  might  I  ask  her  to  feed 
him.  She  was  at  once  all  hospi 
tality,  and  my  tramp  was  let  into 
the  kitchen  and  fed  to  his  content. 

We  had  an  answer  within  five 
104 


NEW   SAMARIA 

hours.  Until  my  friend  came  I 
enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  the 
Sheriff,  but  did  not  leave  the  house. 
I  was  shy  of  New  Samaria.  When 
on  Wednesday  morning  came  Mr. 
Garvin,  it  was  really  difficult  to  per 
suade  him  that  I  had  been  a  tramp, 
a  beggar,  and  suspected  of  being  a 
gambler  and  horse- thief. 

"Why,  Woodburn,"  he  said, 
"give  a  dog  a  bad  name  and  he 
will  starve." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  give  a  man  a  dirty 
suit  of  clothes  and  his  character  is 
gone." 

When  I  related  my  temptations 
and  how  I  had   committed   arson, 
he  was  delightedly  amused. 
105 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"My  dear  Woodburn,"  he  said, 
"with  some  small  exceptions,  you 
have  pretty  well  illustrated  the  deca 
logue." 

I  said  that  I  had. 

My  financial  affairs  were  soon  set 
upon  a  firm  basis,  and  the  Sheriff 
undertook  to  arrange  for  me  some 
other  matters  of  which  I  shall  say  a 
word  later. 

Mr.  Garvin  was  well  known  as  a 
correspondent  of  the  New  Samaria 
Bank.  He  dropped  in  with  the 
Sheriff  and  mentioned  that  a  friend 
of  his,  whom  the  Sheriff  would 
identify,  might  present  a  large  draft 
for  deposit, — some  ten  or  fifteen 
thousand.  The  gentleman  owned 
106 


NEW   SAMARIA 

the  mines  and  needed    money  to 
arrange  his  affairs. 

Of  course,  all  was  now  clear 
enough.  On  Thursday  I  left  the 
Sheriff  and  Mrs.  Sheriff.  They 
promised  to  keep  secret  the  end  of 
my  adventures  and  to  care  for  the 
dog.  I  was  too  uncomfortable  to 
tempt  the  talent  of  local  tailors,  and 
went  away  to  St.  Louis  to  refresh 
the  inner  and  clothe  the  outer  man. 
I  was  not  done  with  New  Samaria. 
Indeed,  who,  in  my  condition, 
could  have  stood  out  against  such 
inviting  opportunities  for  requital? 

About  August  20  a  neatly  dressed 
gentleman  arrived  at  the  hotel  in 
107 


NEW   SAMARIA 

New  Samaria  with  his  baggage  in 
good  order.  He — that  is,  I — was 
quite  sure  that  no  one  would  see  in 
him  the  tramp  who  had  cost  the 
town  so  dear.  The  time  which  lay 
between  my  two  arrivals  had  taught 
me  many  things  which,  but  for  my 
accident,  I  might  never  have  known. 
I  do  not  regret  it.  Clothes  elevate 
or  morally  lower.  I  was  myself 
once  more,  and  better  than  my 
former  self. 

The  landlord  was  very  civil  when 
I  said  that  I  wanted  to  be  driven 
to  the  mines.  He  recalled  ruefully 
that  drunken  horse-thief  who  had 
fooled  him  and  ruined  his  best 

horse.     However,   he   would    him- 
108 


NEW   SAMARIA 

self  drive  me.  On  the  way  I  heard 
all  about  myself.  It  was  not  flat 
tering. 

"  Why,  sir,  I  had  hardly  set  eyes 
on  that  man  before  I  reckoned  that 
he  wasn't  all  right,  but  he  had  a 
sort  of  high  way  of  talking  as  if  he 
was  somebody.  It  kind  of  took 
me  in.  I  never  guessed  he  was 
tight.  That  horse  was  the  quietest 
beast.  Well,  he  cost  me  about 
four  hundred  dollars — darn  him  !" 

I  said  it  was  hard. 

The  mine  business  was  simple. 
There  had  been  loose  management 
and  some  fraud. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  the  bank. 
There  was  the  bald  man,  his  scalp 
109 


NEW   SAMARIA 

still  in  motion,  the  two  quill  pens 
over  his  ears  moving.  The  Sheriff 
was  with  me,  but  at  my  request  he 
loitered  outside. 

I  said,  "  Mr.  Baldwin,  here  is  a 
draft  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars, 
which  I  desire  to  deposit  and  against 
which  I  shall  draw." 

The  bald  man  said,  "  Grayshuss ! 
it's  Mr.  Garvin's  bank !  I  don't 
know.  Who  identifies  you*?" 

I  called  the  Sheriff,  who  reas 
sured  the  cashier.  I  asked  about 
the  clerk  whose  leg  I  had  incident 
ally  broken.  The  bald  man  said 
he  was — I  think  he  said — a  socker 
at  figures,  and  confessed  to  his  own 
total  inadequacy  as  to  making  things 
no 


NEW   SAMARIA 

balance  in  the  last  week.  However, 
he  gave  me  a  check-book,  and  I  re 
turned  to  the  Sheriff's  and  put  on 
the  torn  livery  of  my  tramp-life  to 
the  joy  of  my  host,  who  so  much 
desired  to  see  the  end  of  my  comedy 
that  I  had  to  slip  out  the  back  way 
to  escape  his  company. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  what  a 
sense  of  freedom  I  reacquired  with 
my  ragged  costume.  I  went  along 
gayly,  reflecting  on  what  moral 
changes  total  absence  of  garments 
would  bring  to  a  man  in  a  climate 
warm  enough  to  make  their  absence 
agreeable.  My  tramp-life  had  not 
left  me  without  other  matters  for 
personal  reflection.  As  I  said  be- 


iii 


NEW   SAMARIA 

fore,  I  had  never  had  a  reasonable 
want  unsupplied.  Indeed,  I  had 
been  very  far  from  a  self-made  man. 
My  week  of  experimental  autofac- 
ture  had  been  a  rather  humbling 
proof  of  my  incapacity;  but,  as 
every  fellow  is  charitable  concern 
ing  himself,  I  found  excuses  for 
my  failure  in  my  physical  state, 
and,  alas !  in  my  rags  and 
beard. 

At  this  moment,  being  well  out 
of  town,  I  saw  my  former  comrade, 
Petersen,  leaning  idly  against  a 
snake  fence,  his  rake  beside  him,  his 
pipe  in  his  mouth.  He  was  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  forehead  with  his 
shirt-sleeve. 

112 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  Halloa !"  said  I.     "Hot?" 

"Halloa!  Where  in  thunder 
have  you  been?  Guess  the  Sheriff 
took  you  up  for  lyin'  about  that 
watch.  I  suppose  my  money's 
drawin'  interest?" 

"  It  is."     He  grinned. 

"Never  expected  to  see  you 
again." 

"  Well,  here  I  am,  and  my  watch 
too."  I  pulled  it  out  as  I  spoke. 

"  Gosh  !  Got  it  ?  You  done  it 
well  that  time." 

"  No,  it  is  mine.  I  say,  old  man, 
why  don't  you  settle  down  and 
work  for  yourself?" 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  it.  Suppose 
*  113 


NEW   SAMARIA 

we  buy  that  farm  and  work  it,  you 
and  IT 

"You  and  me?  When  I  see 
that  farm  I'll  answer.  But  darned 
if  you  ain't  a  queer  chap  !  What 
are  you  up  to,  anyway?  Did  my 
ten  dollars  buy  that  farm  ?" 
"Would  you  work?" 
"Would  I?  You  try  me." 
"Well,  to-morrow  at  twelve 
o'clock  you  are  to  go  to  the  bank. 
You  will  find  the  Sheriff.  Ask  if 
he  has  that  farm  around  anywhere. 
He'll  be  in  the  bank  at  noon.  Now, 
don't  stay  away.  I  told  you  a  tale 
once  ;  you  half-believed  it.  At  least 
you  did  not  call  me  a  liar.  Do  as 
I  say." 

114 


NEW    SAMARIA 

"I'll  do  it;  but  it's  like  a  real 
theatre  play.  A  farm  !  and  my 
Minny !  It  makes  a  fellow  sweat. 
I  don't  know  what  you're  up  to,  but 
if  you're  a  mind  to  fool  me— 

"Well,  you  will  go?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  sure  enough.  But 
mind,  if— 

I  went  down  the  road  enjoying 
my  comedy.  The  front  door  of  the 
cottage  was  still  open,  but  seeing 
Mr.  Sedgeley  in  a  hammock  under 
the  trees  I  went  boldly  forward. 
The  little  woman,  very  pretty  and 
looking  girlishly  young  in  a  white 
gown,  was  reading  aloud — the 
"Pathfinder,"  I  think.  I  said, 
"Good-afternoon,  Ma'am."  The 


NEW   SAMARIA 

man  got  up  on  his  elbow  and  said 
things  about  tramps.  I  listened, 
comfortably  conscious  of  his  dis 
ability.  Seeing  that  I  made  no 
reply,  he  came  to  an  end.  Upon 
this  I  said,  "  You  ought  not  to  talk 
in  that  way  to  any  one ;  and,  really, 
the  wealth  of  opprobrious  language 
on  tap  in  New  Samaria  is  rather 
surprising."  As  my  man  of  the 
red  head  and  broken  leg  began 
anew,  his  wife  said,  "Do  be  quiet, 
Tom,"  and  to  me,  "  What  do  you 
want?" 

"  Ten  minutes'  talk,  Mrs.  Sedge- 
ley." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"You  made  some  time  ago  an 
116 


NEW   SAMARIA 

investment  of  one  dollar  and  twenty- 
five  cents." 

"I  hope  it  will  prove  profit 
able." 

"  Don't  forget,  too,  the  pitcher  of 
milk  and  a  half-loaf.  I  should  like 
a  bill,  an  account,  if  you  please." 

"  What  nonsense  !  You  have 
made  Tom  very  cross,  and  I  know 
it  is  bad  for  his  leg.  I  have  no 
more  money  for  you  and  no  milk, 
and  I  do  not  fancy  such  jokes." 

"  I  have  made  out  an  account 
myself.  If  you  will  call  at  the 
bank  at  twelve-fifteen  to-morrow, 
and  ask  for  a  letter  for  you — 

"What  on  earth  does  all  this 
mean?"  roared  the  husband.  "Is 
117 


NEW   SAMARIA 

this  fellow  cracked?  Get  out  of 
this,  or — oh,  darn  that  splint !" 

"  Will  you  go  to  the  bank  ?"  I 
said,  quietly. 

"No  !"  roared  Tom, "  she  won't." 

44  Yes,"  said  Madam,  "  at  twelve- 
fifteen  I  shall  be  there.  Why,  Tom, 
what  can  be  the  harm6?" 

"Good-by,"  said  I,  assured  that 
nothing  would  keep  that  woman 
from  doing  what  I  had  asked  her  to 
do. 

At  twelve  next  day  the  Sheriff 
and  I  sat  waiting  in  the  small  room 
at  the  back  of  the  bank  office.  I 
was  now  again  in  my  decent  clothes 
and  clean  shaven.  I  heard  the  bald 
man  tell  Thad.  Petersen  to  find  the 
118 


NEW   SAMARIA 

Sheriff  right  in  there.  I  sat  still  at 
a  table  writing.  The  Sheriff,  hugely 
pleased  with  the  play,  said,  "  Your 
name's  Petersen  9" 

"  Yes,  that's  my  name." 

"A  gentleman,  a  friend  of  this 
man  here,"  indicating  my  back, 
"  has  given  you  a  farm." 

Petersen  looked  at  him  with  big 
blue  eyes  of  steadfast  doubt,  and 
gently  shook  his  head  in  negation. 
He  said  no  words. 

"There's  the  deed." 

Petersen,  anxious  and  flushed, 
took  the  deed  of  gift.  He  glanced 
at  the  Sheriff  and  then  down  at  the 
paper,  hesitating  as  he  slowly  opened 
it  and  spread  it  on  the  table.  I 
119 


NEW   SAMARIA 

kept  a  side  watch,  as  yet  unrecog 
nized. 

"  What's  all  this?"  said  Petersen. 
" '  For  the  sum  of  ten  dollars  and 
other  valuable  considerations,'  etc., 
'the  party  of  the  first  part  grants 
and  conveys,'  etc.,  etc."  He  looked 
up.  "  But  it's  my  boss's  farm,  one 
hundred  and  sixty  acres.  It  can't 
be ;  it's  impossible." 

"Yes,  it's  all  right,"  said  the 
Sheriff. 

"  And  he'll  move  out  ?" 

"  He  will." 

"And  I'll  move  in1?" 

"  You  can." 

Petersen  said,  "  'Scuse  me,  Mr. 
Sheriff,  it's  weakenin'."  He  sat 


1 20 


NEW   SAMARIA 

down  and  fell  into  intent  study  of 
my  deed  of  gift.  We  were  silent. 
At  last  he  looked  up  and  said, 
"  Look  here  ;  it  ain't  no  joke  *?" 

"No,"  said  I,  turning.  "Don't 
you  know  me,  Petersen?"  You 
helped  a  starving  man,  whom  no 
one  else  believed.  You  were  a  real 
Samaritan." 

"I  did,  by  George!  and  you're' 
the  man,  and  it  was  true  what  you 
said." 

Petersen  caught  my  hand  and 
said,  "  Lord !  to  think  of  it ! 
Minny  and  me  and  sister  Becky !" 
— his  voice  broke — "  and  Minny  !" 

I  said,  "That  will  do.  It's  all 
right." 

121 


NEW   SAMARIA 

If  it  gave  him  the  pleasure  it 
gave  me,  he  was  well  repaid.  He 
rose,  saying,  "  You  won't  go  till  I 
see  you  again.  I've  got  to  wire 
Rebecca," — he  went  out, — "  can't 
wait." 

The  Sheriff  said,  "  That's  worth 
the  price  of  admission,  Mr.  Wood- 
burn.  Oh,  here  is  Mrs.  Sedgeley. 
How  do  you  do.  How's  Tom1? 
This  gentleman  wants  to  see  you." 

The  little  woman  said,  "Good- 
morning,  sir,"  and  looked  at  me, 
puzzled. 

I  said,  "Mrs,  Sedgeley,  a  little 
while  ago,  a  week  or  so,  you  made 
an  investment.  Here  is  a  statement 
of  the  transaction.  A  tramp  asked 

122 


NEW   SAMARIA 

for  food  and  money.  You  gave 
both.  It  seems  to  be  unusual  in 
Samaria.  Here  is  the  account.  I 
am  in  your  debt  as  follows : 

'  GEORGE  WOODBURN 

To  MRS.  SEDGELEY,  DR. 
To  one  mug  of  milk, 
To  one  slice  of  bread, 
To  one  pitcher  of  milk, 
To  one  loaf  of  bread, 
To  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents,' 

which  were  all  put  out  at  a  good 
interest.  There  has  been  a  consid 
erable  rise  in  values." 

"What  does  this  mean,  Mr. 
Sheriff4?"  said  the  bewildered  wo 
man. 

123 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"You'll  soon  see,"  said  the 
Sheriff,  and  I  went  on  : 

"There  is  the  product  of  your 
investment.  Mind,  this  is  yours, 
not  Tom's." 

She  looked  at  my  check.  "  Why, 
it's  five  thousand  dollars,  sir.  Is  it 
for  me  ? — mine  *?  Not  for  Tom — 
for  me — for  me." 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  And  you  may 
ask  Tom  if  he  will  go  out  and  run 
that  coal-mine  for  me." 

She  looked  at  me  and  exclaim 
ing,  "  Oh  my !"  sat  down  and  cried, 
sobbing  out,  "  and  we  were  in  debt 

too,    and — and It    can't    be 

true.     We  never  had  any  luck  since 
my  baby  died.     It  can't  be  true." 
124 


"  Why,  it's  five  thousand  dollars 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  You  can  have  the  money  now," 
said  the  Sheriff,  "  right  here,  and  it 
is  as  true  as  your  own  kind  heart." 

I  said,  "  Now  go,  and  tell  Tom 
not  to  swear  at  me  when  I  call  this 
afternoon." 

Next  I  went  alone  to  the  dirty 
little  building  known  as  the  Town 
Hospital  of  New  Samaria,  a  part  of 
the  poorhouse.  I  found  the  doctor 
in  a  disorderly  little  office  talking 
to  my  friendly  nurse. 

I  said,  "I  have  called  to  say  a 
word  or  two." 

"Would  I  sit  down?" 

"  No.  Doctor,  I  am  the  gentle 
man  who  was  cared  for  here  after 
an  accident  on  July  4.  I  was 
125 


NEW   SAMARIA 

robbed  by  the  circus  people  and  left 
helpless  on  your  hands  without  a 
penny." 

The  woman  smiled  and  the  doc 
tor  said,  "Is  that  so*?  Well, 
now  !" 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  a  New  York  banker, 
as  I  then  said.  You  can  find  out 
about  me  from  the  Sheriff  if  you 
are  still  in  doubt." 

The  doctor  hesitated  a  moment 
and  then  returned  :  "  I  suppose  you 
are  going  to  say  I  might  have  be 
lieved  you.  I  didn't,  and  I  should 
just  like  to  ask  you  if  I  had  begged 
of  you  anywhere,  and  told  you 
such  a  yarn,  and  looked  like  such  a 
tramp, — now,  sir,  in  justice  to  my- 
126 


NEW   SAMARIA 

self,  I'd  just  like  to  know,  would 
you  have  believed  a  word  I  spoke  ?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  I,  remem 
bering  the  many  vain  appeals  to  me 
in  past  years.  "  I  do  not  think  I 
should.  However,  the  nurse  did." 

"  No,  not  quite,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  a  little,"  said  I. 

"  But  she's  a  woman,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  Thank  God  for  that,  and  for 
her.  I  was  taken  good  care  of,  and 
we  won't  quarrel  over  the  rest.  My 
case  was  well  managed,  too.  Send 
me  your  account  to  the  hotel.  I 
will  pay  it.  And  don't  make  it 
small.  I  am  really  grateful  for  what 
you  did.  As  to  what  you  said,  it 
127 


NEW   SAMARIA 

did  no  harm.  By  the  way,  Miss 
Jane,  you  lent  me  fifty  cents." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  gave  it  to  you." 

"  I  am  fortunately  able  to  return 
it  with  interest,  and  let  me  add  that 
if  ever  you  need  a  friend  I  shall  be 
at  your  service." 

She  took  the  envelope,  looked 
embarrassed  and  curious,  and  slowly 
tore  it  open.  "  Oh,  I  can't.  Now, 
Will,  I  can't,  can  I  ?  Why,  it's  a 
thousand  dollars !" 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor  decisively, 
"you  did  not  earn  it." 

"  What  the  deuce  have  you  to 
do  with  it c?"  said  I. 

"  Well,  we  are  to  be  married  next 

week." 

128 


NEW   SAMARIA 

"  Of  course,"  said  I,  "  I  ought  to 
have  made  it  clearer.  It  is  a  wed 
ding-present." 

"  That  makes  all  the  difference 
in  the  world,"  said  the  lady.  "I 
thank  you,  oh,  ever  so  much, 
and  it  will  make  things  so  easy, 
Will." 

I  escaped,  a  little  overcome  by 
the  comfort  and  joy  I  had  given. 
I  left  her  seated,  and  unequal  to 
further  expression  of  her  thanks 
beyond  "Oh,  oh,  sir!"  The  wo 
men  of  Samaria  seemed  to  be  much 
given  to  tears. 

I  settled  with  the  landlord  for  the 
horse  and  wagon,  and  promised  to 
forget  his  hasty  temper.  The  town 
129 


NEW   SAMARIA 

has  now  a  neat  little  cottage  hos 
pital  and  the  Sheriff  a  gold  repeater. 
My  wife  says  it  has  all  been  fatal  to 
my  character,  because  now  I  believe 
every  tramp  and  feed  every  beggar 
who  wanders  to  the  door  of  our 
country  home. 

I  did  hesitate  a  little  about  the 
church.  Finally,  however,  I  sent  a 
confession  and  a  large  check  to  the 
parson,  with  a  meerschaum  pipe  and 
a  request  to  be  allowed  to  keep  the 
briarwood  I  had  stolen.  When  this 
became  known  several  Western  edi 
tors  desired  me  to  come  and  burn 
down  their  old  churches,  and  finally 
threw  doubt  on  the  whole  incident. 
Others  said  I  had  set  fire  to  the 
130 


NEW  SAMARIA 

church  and  paid  for  it  afterwards  in 
order  to  advertise  my  firm. 

I  brought  home  with  me  that 
Samaritan  dog  which  crossed  the 
street  to  contribute  the  chanty  of 
acquaintance.  He  is  free  to  do  as 
he  likes,  but  he  will  go  no  whither 
with  any  one  but  me.  He  is  known 
as  Tramp,  and  is  a  dog  of  pica 
resque  habits.  At  times  he  is 
absent  for  a  week,  and  may  come 
home  lean  and  scarred,  or  plump 
and  lazy. 

For  a  year  Tramp  was  the  instant 
friend  of  every  ragged  scamp  who 
appealed  at  my  door  for  aid,  but  by 
degrees  association  with  the  edu 
cated  class  entirely  altered  his  views, 
131 


NEW   SAMARIA 

and  of  late  it  is  impossible  for  a 
beggar  to  come  near  our  gates,  be 
cause  of  Tramp's  acquired  dislike 
to  the  ill-clothed  or  to  the  human 
members  of  a  class  to  which  he 
once  belonged. 


132 


THE  SUMMER  OF 
ST.  MARTIN 


Copyright,  1903,  by  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY 


THE   SUMMER    OF 
ST.   MARTIN 

& 

IT  was  near  to  twilight,  the  wind 
less  evening  of  one  of  those  dreamy 
days  of  mid-November  when  nature, 
never  at  rest,  seems  to  pause  amid 
the  hazy  atmosphere  of  the  Indian 
summer. 

From  a  wood  which  crowned 
the  hill-top  the  land  fell  away 
in  gracious  curves  set  with  the 
yellowing  sheaves  of  corn  to  dis 
tant  meadows,  beyond  which  a 
great  river  moved  onward  with  no 
135 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

haste  to  the  sea.  A  late  autumn 
still  left  the  forest  as  glorious  as 
a  storm-born  sunset,  with  the  red 
and  gold  of  the  sassafras,  oak,  and 
maple  set  against  a  background  of 
the  dark  cones  of  spruce  and  pine. 

On  the  edge  of  the  wood  a  man 
whose  years  accorded  with  the  au 
tumnal  season  sat  on  a  rustic  bench 
and  watched  the  smoke  from  his 
pipe  rise  in  blue  spirals  through  the 
motionless  air,  or  now  and  then 
followed  the  sauntering  movement 
of  a  leaf  as,  rocking  to  and  fro,  it 
descended  in  what  seemed  a  lei 
surely  way  until  it  lay  with  its 
fellows  on  the  all-reclaiming  earth. 

There  was  some  note  of  expecta- 
136 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

tion  in  the  silence  of  the  hour,  a 
sense  of  restful  reprieve  in  the 
warmth  of  the  November  day.  The 
man,  who  sat  bareheaded,  was  quite 
at  one  with  the  mood  of  the  time 
and  with  the  serenity  of  this  pause 
in  the  decay  of  what  the  bounty  of 
the  summer  had  given. 

He  was  quietly  reflecting  on 
what  his  life  of  dutiful  service  in 
war  and  peace  had  been  to  his 
country.  He  had  the  power — so 
often  lost  in  age — of  imaginative 
visual  recall,  and  looking  downward 
over  the  boulders  on  the  upper 
slope,  he  saw  for  a  moment  the  mad 
fury  of  the  fight  on  Little  Round 
Top  and  the  anguish  of  the  burning 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

woods  in  the  Wilderness.  As  his 
after  service  in  foreign  courts  passed 
through  his  mind,  some  remembered 
incident  brought  a  smile  to  the 
sternness  of  a  face  ever  ready  with 
the  signal  of  humorous  appreciation. 
Then,  as  he  struck  his  pipe  on  the 
bench  to  knock  out  the  glowing 
ashes,  he  lived  again  in  the  distant 
year  of  sorrow  which  had  left  him 
with  a  certain  courteous  tenderness 
for  women,  young  and  old.  It  had 
seemed  at  times  near  enough  to 
something  yet  more  tender  to  ex 
cite  hopes,  which  were  but  the 
shadows  cast  by  his  memories  of 
the  long-lost  light  of  love. 

Thus     wandering     in     thought 
138 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

through  the  scenes  of  a  life  of  ad 
venture  and  historic  interest,  he 
stretched  himself  and  then  sat  more 
erect,  conscious  of  still  feeling  com 
petence  of  mind  and  strength  of 
body.  He  was,  in  fact,  in  one  of 
those  rare  periods  which  come  to  an 
old  age  of  vigor,  when,  during  the 
slow  failure  of  the  body,  there  seems 
to  be  a  return  of  youthful  energy, 
and  for  a  time  the  man  feels  himself 
to  be  once  more  in  the  genial  sum 
mer  of  productive  life. 

He  smiled  as  his  fancy  recog 
nized  in  nature's  pause  a  symbol  of 
his  sense  of  brief  arrest  in  the  inevi 
table  coming  of  life's  wintry  days. 

He  looked  up  and  around  him, 
139 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

taking  note  of  how  much  was 
left  of  the  splendor  of  autumnal 
color. 

As  he  turned  he  saw  near  by  a 
woman  of  some  twenty  years,  lean 
ing  against  an  oak  and  steadily 
regarding  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "Helen,  how 
long  have  you  been  playing  the 
spy?" 

"  Oh,  about  ten  minutes." 

"  And  may  I  ask,  my  dear,  the 
result  of  your  observations?" 

She  laughed  gayly,  still  keeping 
her  place. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  but  I  shall 
make  you  blush." 

"  At  my  age !  Seventy  years  loses 
140 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

one  that  art,  if  art  it  be.  I  am 
hardened — go  on." 

"  I  was  thinking  how  handsome 
you  are." 

"  Well,  let  that  pass ;  what 
else?" 

"  And  what  a  kind  face  you  have 
and  yet  how  stern." 

"I  remain  undisturbed,  and 
should,  I  presume,  be  flattered. 
What  more  T 

"You  have  that  look  which 
comes  to  men,  to  some  men,  who 
have  often  been  in  peril  of  sudden 
death.  That  is  my  father's  wisdom ; 
I  borrowed  it  because  to-day  I  see 
it.  I  like  it,  too." 

"  I  think  we  may  rest  there,  my 
141 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

child ;  come  and  sit  by  me.  We 
have  an  hour  before  dinner." 

As  she  sat  down  he  said,  pleas 
antly, — 

"  If  you  are  through  with  me 
and  my  looks,  it  may  now  be  my 
turn." 

"  Oh,  but  I  was  not  quite  through. 
I  tried  to  imagine  what  you  were 
thinking  of." 

"  Now  that  is  quite  another  mat 
ter.  Still  I  am  amiably  disposed. 
There  ought  to  be  female  confessors 
for  my  sex.  I  cannot  conceive  of 
myself  as  opening  my  heart  to  a 
man.  But  you  may  hear  terrible 
things." 

"I  am  not  afraid.  It  is  be- 
142 


SUMMER  OF   ST.  MARTIN 

coming  very,  very  interesting.  Do 
go  on." 

"  I  was  thinking  that  I  felt  to-day 
as  I  did  at  thirty — as  if  time  had 
mercifully  dropped  me  for  a  season ; 
after  a  while  he  will  come  back  for 
me  in  a  worse  humor.  There  comes 
to  us,  to  the  old,  now  and  then,  this 
summer  of  St.  Martin." 

In  a  low,  gentle  voice,  as  if  re 
flecting,  she  repeated  what  he  had 
said : 

"  The  4  summer  of  St.  Martin.'  I 
like  that." 

"  I  shall  be  for  it  the  better  com 
pany.  It  is  my  turn  now.  The 
soft  whiteness  of  that  gown  is  most 
becoming.  As  you  stood,  your 
143 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

hair — do  you  see  the  buckwheat 
stubble  below  us,  red  and  gold  ?  I 
did  not  have  to  go  far  for  a  com 
parison.  When  the  leaves  were 
drifting  down  around  you,  you 
seemed  to  me  like  the  glad  young 
spring  in  wide-eyed  wonder  at  the 
failing  year." 

The  girl  stood  up  and  courtesied. 
"  When  I  am  an  old,  old  lady,  and 
my  hair  is  gray,  I  shall  say  to — to 
some  one,  '  When  I  was  young, 
General  Westwood  said — '  and  then 
they  will  say,  'What!  the  great 
soldier?'" 

"  Or  more  likely,  my  dear,  '  Who 
the  deuce  was  he  V  " 

"Oh,  no,  no;  and  I  shall  say, 
144 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

'Yes;  he  was  my  father's  friend, 
and  he  was  the  handsomest  man  of 
his  time,  and  really  there  are  no 
men  like  him  nowadays.'  It  will 
be  thenadays."  And  upon  this  she 
sat  down,  adding :  "  And  really,  if, 
sir,  you  had  the  honor  to  know 
General  Westwood  as  I  do,  and 
could  hear  my  father  talk  about 
him,  you  would  wonder  whether 
any  of  the  young  men  I  know  will 
ever  come  to  the  stature  of  men  like 
him." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  laugh 
ing  merrily,  "  you  make  me  wish  I 
too  were  young  once  more.  But 
you  might  then  have  the  same  doubt 
you  seem  to  have  concerning  all 
145 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

those  youngsters  I  saw  about  you 
last  night.  Are  there  any  of  them 
who V 

"  No,  not  one." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  confessing 
me,  and  now  it  is  my  turn.  You 
have  had  lovers,  my  lady?" 

"  I  *?  Of  course,  yes,  after  a 
fashion.  I  have  my  own  idea  as  to 
what  a  lover  should  be.  He  is  still 
in  fairy-land." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  sketch  for  me 
that  ideal  gentleman.  I  promise 
the  secrecy  of  the  confessional." 

"  Then  I  answer :  He  is  to  be 
what  you  must  have  been  at  twenty- 
five." 

"And  how,  my  fair  Helen,  can 
146 


SUMMER  OF    ST.  MARTIN 

you  know  what  I  was   or  how  I 
might  have  made  love  *?" 

She  evaded  a  too  difficult  ques 
tion,  saying,  "  I  think  you  could 
do  it  yet.  Tell  me  how  a  man  like 
you  at  twenty-five  went  about  try 
ing  to  make  a  woman  care  for  him." 

"  Does  no  experience  as  yet  tell 
you  ?" 

"  No,  or  only  how  it  should  not 
be  done." 

"Ah,  well,  if  I  were  twenty-five 
and  you  twenty  I  might  instruct 
that  sweet  innocence  in  whose  ig 
norant  inexperience  I  only  half 
believe." 

"  And  what  would  you  say — oh, 
really?" 

147 


SUMMER   OF  ST.  MARTIN 

He  laughed  as  he  answered  her: 
"  Can  you  imagine  me  at  twenty- 
five  and  in  love,  let  us  say,  with 
Miss  Helen  Walden?" 

"  Yes,  easily.  I  am  already  in 
terested.  We  met — where  was  it 
we  met*?  But  just  now  I  must  sit 
a  little  farther  away."  And  laugh 
ing  gayly,  she  moved  to  the  far  end 
of  the  bench,  adding,  "  There  must 
have  been  a  beginning." 

Much  delighted,  the  general  re 
plied,  "  We  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Suppose  we  begin  in  the  middle 
of  it." 

"  Or  near  the    end.     We    must 
talk  in  a  background,  a  scene." 
148 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"Why  not  choose  your  place? 
Miss  Walden,  your  lover  waits." 

"  What  a  charming  comedy  !  It 
must  be  on  the  porch  at  Cousin 
Harry's.  There  is  a  full  moon  on 
the  water,  and  the  time  is  June,  at 
Newport.  Oh,  this  is  too  delight 
ful  !  We  are  there,  walking  up  and 
down  on  the  porch,  and  you  are 
Captain  Westwood,  and  you  said 
to  me " 

"  No,  I  am  saying ;  present  tense, 
Miss  Helen ;  we  must  lose  our 
identity  with  the  future." 

She  was  quick  to  accept  the 
challenge.  "  I  will  begin  :  4  Yes, 
Captain  Westwood,  I  have  known 
149 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

you  long  enough  to  say  that,  but 
more  I  cannot  say.' ' 

"To  say  what?" 

"  Bless  me,  general !  You  are  Cap 
tain  Westwood,  you  must  know." 

"  Pardon  me.  I  forgot  my  part, 
and  there  is  no  prompter  in  a  love- 
play.  Now,  as  the  captain,  I  say, 
'You  confess,  Miss  Walden,  that 
you  are  enough  interested  to  give 
me  hope  that  before  I  return  to  the 
front  I  may  carry  away  with  me 
some  assurance  that  at  some 
time '" 

"No,  I  cannot  say  that.     I  said 

nothing  like  that.     If  ever  I  love  a 

man  I  shall  surprise  him.     I  shall 

love  as  some  people  hate.     I  shall 

150 


SUMMER  OF   ST.  MARTIN 

be  very  careful,  because  once  netted 
I  shall  never  get  out.  I  shall  want 
to  be  sure.  I  am  far  from  that." 

"  Do  not  you  think,  Miss  Helen, 
that  with  what  you  know  of  me 
you  could  trust  me  *?" 

"I  cannot  trust  myself.  I  am 
afraid.  If  ever  I  were  to  care  for 
you  or  for  any  man,  and,  far  away 
in  the  years,  he  should  prove  to  be 
other  than  my  ideal,  I — I — should 
— oh,  I  do  not  know  what  I 
should  do." 

"  Do  not  you  think  that  to  pos 
sess  your  love  would  in  itself  insure 
that  a  man — oh,  Miss  Helen,  to 
look  forward  to  the  sweet  possession 
of  your  love,  to  move  with  you 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

through  life,  might  make  an  angel 
of  a  worse  man  than  I.  You  have 
known  me  a  month.  Can  you  ever 
know  me  better?  There  is  war 
and  its  chances.  In  a  year  I  may 
return,  or  I  never  may  return." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  say  that 
kind  of  thing,  Captain  Westwood. 
It  is — it  is  not  fair.  And  I  do  not 
see  why  you  should  care  for  me." 

"  Because  you  are  a  beautiful 
woman,  because  the  gold  of  your 
hair  is  as  golden  as  the  golden 
wheat,  because  you  have  violet 
eyes,  because  you  are  as  good  as 
you  are  beautiful,  and  true  and  noble 
in  your  aims  and  thoughts." 

"  I  never  heard  such  nonsense." 
152 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  Then  no  man  with  a  heart  and 
a  head  has  ever  loved  you." 

"You  would  be  sorely  disap 
pointed." 

"  I  dare  a  little  to  think,  to  be 
lieve,  that  you  care  for  me  more 
than  seems  to  you  possible." 

"You  are  mistaken,  and  you 
have  no  right  to  any  such  belief 
merely  because  I  have  been  so  fool 
ish  as  to  say  I  liked  you.  I  shall 
be  more  careful." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  when  you  said 
it,  and  you  gave  me  a  wild-rose 
bud." 

"  Yes,  and  you  wished  it  were  a 
full-blown  rose ;  I  thought  you  very, 
very  impertinent." 
153 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

"  But  you  knew  what  I  meant, 
and  ever  since  I  have  wanted  that 
rose — the  rose  of  your  perfect  love. 
It  was  only  the  sweet  insolence  of 
love  and  longing." 

"Once  for  all,  Captain  West- 
wood,  this  must  stop.  Do  men 
never  take  'No'  for  a  woman's 
answer  ?  I  should  think  your  own 
self-respect  would  teach  you  that  I 
have  said  enough." 

"  Pardon  me.  Men  like  me  never 
feel  that  failure  is  possible.  I  love 
you  the  more  because  you  are  hard 
to  win.  Even  a  forlorn  hope  does 
still  mean  hope." 

She  laughed.      "But  is   in    the 
end  apt  to  be  forlorn." 
154 


SUMMER   OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  Nowadays,  dear  enemy,  we  call 
them  storming  parties." 

"  Oh,  indeed !" 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  your  face.  I 
should  read  my  chances  better. 
Are  you  pale,  or  red  like  yonder 
rosy  pearl,  the  moon  above  the  sea  ? 
What  more  can  I  say  to  you  ex 
cept  again  and  again  that  I  love 
you,  and  that  to-morrow  I  go  to 
Virginia?  Have  you  no  kinder 
word  for  me  *?  Love  has  no  argu 
ment  save  love — love — love." 

Half  self-recalled  by  the  intensity 
with  which  the  actor  put  his  ques 
tion,  she  turned  in  the  dusking  twi 
light  and  saw  the  strength  of  his 
profile  and  the  long  gray  moustache. 
155 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

He,  too,  was  still  in  the  part ;  play 
ing  it  with  a  certain  zest  in  its 
novelty,  and  accepting  her  silence 
as  a  clever  contribution  to  their 
game. 

"  Am  I  to  have  no  answer  ?" 
"  No,  not  now  ;  perhaps — oh,  I 
wish  you  would  go.  No  other  man 
has  ever  said  such  things  to  me. 
They  are  not  true,  they  cannot  be. 
I  am  like  other  girls :  I  am  far,  very 
far  from  perfect." 

"  Yes,  I  admit  that  you  lack  one 
thing  yet — Helen  Walden,  you  do 
not  love  me." 

"  No ;  that,  at  least,  is  true." 
"  But  you  will.     You  must." 
"  Mr.  Westwood !" 
156 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

"  Yes,  Helen — ah,  the  fatal  name  ! 
After  to-night  I  shall  be  away  in 
perilous  night  rides,  in  battle  where 
death  is  in  the  air,  and,  amid  a  host, 
lonely.  You  will  think  of  me 
sometimes  at  this  evening  hour, 
and  perhaps  your  own  heart  will 
be  eloquent  for  me,  and  sometimes, 
when  those  accursed  papers  at  morn 
ing  give  the  long  list  of  the  dead 
and  the  maimed,  you " 

He  paused  as  the  girl  rose  to  her 
feet,  admirably  seizing  the  chance 
he  gave.  For  a  moment  he  was 
back  again  in  the  present,  self-sur 
prised  at  the  stress  and  passion  of 
what  was  half  sad  remembrance 
and  half  an  almost  too  easy  art. 
iS7 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"You  are  unkind  and  cruel.  I 
have  many  friends  in  the  army. 
You  are  only  one." 

"  I  am  only  one,  but  that  one 
loves  you." 

Helen  laughed.  "  Upon  my 
word,  general,  you  are  admirable. 
But  you  have  made  it  hard  for  that 
impossible  he." 

The  general  smiled  as  he  said, 
"Act  number  one.  Your  mother 
calls.  The  curtain  falls.  You  leave 
me.  Shall  we  go  on  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  It  is  charmingly 
real." 

"  And  may  be  made  useful,  my 
dear.     Well,  then,  a  year  goes  by, 
a  year  and  more." 
158 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  And  we  meet  here,"  she  said, 
"just  here  at  this  very  hour,  only  I 
am  seated  and  you  come  through 
the  wood.  It  is  dusk,  just  as  it  is 
now." 

The  general  rose  as  she  sat  down. 
He  stood  before  her  in  the  failing 
light,  erect  and  tall.  "  I  have  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere." 

u  Indeed*?  When  did  you  come  ?" 

"  An  hour  ago.  May  I  lie  down 
on  the  grass4?  I  am  tired." 

He  threw  his  short  blue  horse 
man's  cloak  on  the  grass  and 
dropped  upon  it  at  her  feet. 

"  Stage  direction,  Helen." 

"  I  understand,"  she  said.     "  It  is 
great  fun.     Do  go  on." 
159 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

"  No  ;  it  is  your  turn." 
"  You   have  been  wounded  and 
ill.     I  hope  you  are  better." 

"  The  wound  was  of  no  moment ; 
a  too  intimate  reb  got  in  on  my 
guard — a  saber-cut.  For  the  rest, 
it  was  swamp  fever.  But  I  am  not 
here  to  talk  of  myself.  I  go  back 
to-morrow." 

"  Are  you  fit  for  service  *?" 
"  I  hope  to  be ;  but,  whether  or 
not,  I  go  back  to-morrow." 
"  To-morrow  !     So  soon  !" 
"  Yes,  I  go  back  to-morrow." 
"  How  the  leaves  are  falling  !" 
"  You  never  answered  one  of  my 
letters,  Miss  Helen." 

"  No.     Yes  ;  I  did  twice." 
160 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

"  I  never  got  them." 

"  No  ;  I  burned  them." 

"  You  were  unkind." 

"No;  I  was  kind.  I  did  not 
want  to  hurt  you,  and  last  year  you 
had  my  answer." 

"Answer!  I  had  no  answer.  I 
am  here  again  for  another  kind  of 
answer.  Has  time  still  been  un 
kind,  Helen?" 

Here  he  sat  up,  and  resting  an 
elbow  on  the  bench,  with  his  hand 
supporting  his  head,  looking  up  at 
her,  as  she  said,  "  Isn't  it  rather 
chilly,  Captain  Westwood?  The 
dew  is  falling.  Is  it  prudent  ?  You 
have  been  ill." 

"The   good   doctor,  Love,  will 
11  161 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

care  for  me.  And  ah,  Helen,  I  have 
but  one  thing  to  say :  I  love  you. 
Through  life  to  death  I  shall  love 
you.  Wounds  and  sickness  are  little 
things.  This  is  a  sadder  illness,  to 
love  and  not  be  loved  in  turn." 

"  Oh,  there  are  so  many  things. 
And  I " 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  I  know  you  mean 
that  you  do  not  know  me  well,  that 
you  cannot  trust  your  life  to  a  man 
of  whom  you  have  seen  so  little. 
You  are  reasoning.  I  cannot  blame 
you.  But,  Helen,  I  want  you  to 
feel,  not  to  reason :  that  is  the  too 
wise  foe  of  love/' 

"And    have    you    no   reason — I 

mean  to " 

162 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  To  love  you  ?  Yes,  a  man's  rea 
son,  a  bird's  reason ;  all  love's  folly 
and  all  love's  wisdom  are  in  the  busi 
ness.  You  say  nothing.  Is  there  no 
rose  of  love  hidden  in  the  darkness 
of  your  silence,  no  answering  love- 
song,  when  I  am  like  the  poor  bird 
that  has  no  song  but  that  of  love  ? 
I  imagined,  as  I  came  through  the 
wood  and  the  twilight  grew,  flood 
ing  the  ways  at  my  feet  with 
shadows,  that  I  should  all  in  a  mo 
ment  see  the  light  of  welcome  on 
your  face." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 
"  Be  gladder  still — no,  I  will  have 
that   hand.     How  soft  it  is,  how 
tender !" 

163 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  I  must  go  ;  it  is  late.  I  beg  of 
you." 

"  No  ;  it  is  a  sweet  prisoner.  Ah, 
little  rebel  hand !" 

"You  are  so  strong — be  merci 
ful." 

"  I  cannot.  Why  will  you 
not— ah!" 

He  let  her  hand  fall. 

"  Pardon  me,  Helen ;  I  am  faint. 
This  has  been  too  much  for  me.  I 
have  been  foolish.  I  might  have 
known."  He  slipped  down  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet.  "I  shall  be  all 
right  in  a  moment." 

She  knelt  beside  him.  "  Are  you 
ill?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  There  is  one  remedy — a  little, 
164 


You  are  so  strong — be  merciful" 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

little  love,  that  is  all.  There — that 
is  better."  He  kissed  her  hand. 
"  Oh,  this  is  heaven.  Then  you  do 
love  me?" 

"  Yes,  a  little.  Just  one  leaf  of 
that  rose." 

"  Oh,  my  saucy  rose." 

The  general  stood  up,  laughing. 
The  girl  laughed,  also,  a  strange 
laughter,  incomplete,  a  little  em 
barrassed. 

'*  We  did  it  well,  general ;  I  am 
spoiled  for  all  other  lovers.  Was 
that  the  way  you  used  to  do  it^ 
The  way  you  did  it  once " 

"  Hush,  my  dear  Helen.     I  was 
young  again  for  an  hour,  and  mem 
ory  is  having  its  revenge." 
165 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  I  forgot,"  said  the  girl.  "  For 
give  me.  I  have  heard  mother 
speak  of  it.  It  was  thoughtless  of 
me.  You  will  forgive  me,  won't 
you?" 

"  Ah,  dear  child,  my  world  which 
has  been  so  kind  to  me  was  cruel 
once.  I  have  not  spoken  of  it — 
of  her — for  years.  You  cannot 
know  what  I  lost.  All  true  sorrow 
is  lonely.  May  you  never  know 
that  solitude." 

"  Oh,  sir,  will  you  let  me  say  that 
what  she,  too,  lost  in  death — oh,  the 
life  of  a  perfect  love — how  can  any 
world  we  do  not  know  make  up  for 
that?" 

"Hush,  my  child,"  he  said. 
166 


SUMMER   OF   ST.  MARTIN 

"  God  knows  why  he  gave  and 
why  he  took.  But,  dear,  I  thank 
you." 

She  held  the  hand  he  offered,  say 
ing,  quietly, — 

"  '  I  would  that  I  could  do  such  things  for  you 
As  women  gently  use  to  those  they  love  : 

I  would  my  longing  spirit  like  a  dew 
Could  fall  upon  you  and  all  cares  remove 

And  all  life's  faded  flowers  again  renew.' 

You  won't  mind  my  saying  it.  It 
seems  to  say  it  all  so  much  better 
than  I  could." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  child  of  a  dear 
friend ;  I  understand." 

He  bent  over,   and,  raising  her 
hand,  kissed  it. 

167 


SUMMER  OF  ST.  MARTIN 

"  The  air  is  chilly.  I  am  of  a 
sudden  reminded  of  my  years.  My 
summer  of  St.  Martin  is  over.  Let 
us  go  in  and  tell  them  how  well  we 
have  amused  ourselves.  You  are 
a  clever  little  actress,  Helen.  Who 
shall  relate  our  little  comedy,  you 
orH" 

"  Neither,"  said  the  girl,  and  they 
walked  on  in  silence,  for  he  said 
only,  "  As  you  please,  child." 

A  little  air  blew  through  the 
gloom  of  the  darkened  wood-ways, 
and  the  leaves  fell  about  them,  the 
red  and  the  gold,  in  the  failing  light 
only  gray  flakes  of  drifted  shadows. 


168 


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